One That Walks the Veil
by Khaleda
Summary: This may end terribly. She knew; they knew. They didn't care. And like so many nights before, the two of them moved together in a stream of moonlight, a mingled wave of gold and black, making every last moment last. AU. Raven x Jinx
1. Chapter 1

**_One That Walks the Veil_**

* * *

Joyful music blasted, echoing into the high, arched ceilings of the palace of Olisgard. Servants, house staff, and attendants scurried about, hefting jugs of wine and beer, toting armfuls of food to the feast in the great hall. The entire palace was in motion, a flurry or faces streaming in and out, boastful and elated. One face, pale and hooded, hovered on the outskirts of the commotion, dark eyes watching with silent disdain. This—all of this—was her doing. The party, the crowd of people storming the halls, the feel of triumph in the air. It made her _sick_. Turning away, the woman wandered down a quiet hallway, fingertips dragging along the stone walls as she went. Desperate for a reprise from this gathering, she headed towards the kitchens, hoping to slip out the back doors and disappear into the night.

"Priestess! Priestess!" a squeaking voice called, followed by rapid footsteps.

There was a sudden unwelcomed presence at her side. Frowning, she hesitated ten paces from the kitchen, watching the doors swing open and closed. She glanced at the young page beside her, barely coming to her shoulder. "That is not my title, boy," she murmured.

Uncertainty scrunched up his face, dusting it red. "Uh, my lady—I apologize. What is your title, then? Excuse me, but I do not know—I mean no disrespect," he stammered. "You are from the desert temple, I—I thought you to be a priestess of Se—"

She made a curt gesture, silencing his ramble. "Never mind, it doesn't matter. What is it you want, then? I've somewhere to be."

Beaming now, the page straightened his jacket, standing tall and proud. "The King requests your presence in the throne room!"

A cold wash of dread overcame her. "Does he," she said quietly, deliberating on a decision as the boy jiggled in place. It was too much to hope that he would let her slip back into the shadows after asking so wrong a task of her. It was too much to hope at all.

"Yes, he does. Immediately, actually. I will tell him you're on your way!" he exclaimed, darting off down the hall before she could growl out for him to wait. Would there be no conclusion to this suffering? Would her humiliation ever end? Cursing under her breath, she stormed away from the kitchens. Black robes furrowing behind her, she headed to see his _majesty_ King Dominick Kenos, killer of her people.

It was a day of celebration. The vicious conquest of foreign lands had finally ended. The barbarian leader was slain, and Kenos, King of Norr was victorious. The new boundaries of his territory spread a thousand miles into the setting sun, spanning a land once thought to be uninhabitable wasteland. All it took to change the sovereign's mind was the rumor of precious gems and metals hidden in that torrid, wind-scarred ground. The promise of riches in a land lacking in sophistication was simply too much of a temptation for Kenos. The people that scavenged that land weren't civilized like Norrians were. They had no city, no court; no temples. They were barbarians.

The indigenous people of the _Hudar_ were a nomadic race, guarded, enigmatic, and instinctually wary of their eastern cousins. Their leader was Daskis, a broad shouldered, capable man of shrewd military mind, merciless in defending his people as they traversed the rugged land. For almost a millennia the _Hudar_ had lived where no one else dare go, maintaining a vast territory of dangerous river valleys, parched deserts, and snow covered mountains. Very little foliage grew, save for the sparse grasses that horses, cattle, and goats could abide on. The travelling nation followed a cylindrical path, winding through the terrain, constantly herding their livelihood to fresh food and water. Very little truth was known of their culture. Few dared to brave the land to find them, and those that did never returned the same, if at all. Legends told that the _Hudar_ were a cursed race, gifted in craft, capable of strange, powerful, and terrible magic. Daskis was rumored to wear a helm carved of a wolf skull, drabbed in leather and hides, riding a massive grey horse that breathed fire. The _Hudar_ were also rumored to sacrifice children, drink blood, and dance naked beneath the full moon. Who really knew if any of this was true?

Norr itself was a diverse nation. The province to the north was known for a beautiful countryside nestled at the foot of The Three Sisters, the second tallest mountains of the Targantis range. Quarts and granite was mined here, along with iron ore and copper, supplying Norr with plenty of items for trade. The residents of the north were fair-haired, pale eyed, and tall. It's said that cold was in their blood, rendering them well-seasoned for the icy mountain air and the chilly mines. The center of Norr was marked by the Gated City of Olisgard, where the King himself resided. The citizens here thrived on the budding growth of the most sophisticated city known to man. A melting pot of races, creeds, philosophies mingled here, with some of the sharpest minds of the age. Trade was conducted with emissaries from other lands to the east. Theatres, museums, gathering halls and opulent gardens, Olisgard was the gem of Norr. Further south, a branch of the Pallus river cut through the land, giving way to lush farmland along both banks. The province to the south, somewhat isolated in a span of gentle desert, raised dainty, gorgeous horses, constructed elaborate sandstone architecture, and produced fabrics and linens sought after by all the land. Known for being tan-skinned and fair boned, the citizens of the south were an attractive breed, well mingled with the northern people of Norr. The south also housed a strong military citadel, ever watchful of the western wastelands.

East of Norr was the country of Marsilken, and even further, the land of Choi. King Kenos' predecessor established treaties, and as such Norr was in good standings with both countries, resulting in bountiful trade of goods, customs, and beauty alike. But it was the land to the west that was slowly becoming the bane of the King's existence. The dark, desolate _Hudar_ was a lurking shadow on his otherwise glorious reign. From atop his palace he could see far into the wasteland, see the peak of the tallest mountain in all the land. _The Spire_ it was called, a gargantuan, curving beast jutting from the land. Legends said it was really the claw of a hell beast trying to reach the surface. But it was the more recent, exciting rumors that spoke of the riches yet to be mined at its base, in a rocky, arid desert where barbarians herded goats. Kenos knew them to be true, but how, he could not say. He made it his new life's purpose to secure that bejeweled land.

King Kenos spent months building an army to conquer the dangerous land, gaining intelligence from traveling gypsies, scouts, people that dwelled on the fringes of Norr, so very close to the wastelands. Months gathering supplies, mounts, foodstuffs for his army. The forges of Norr were glowing molten red all hours of the day, spewing out armor, swords and shields. Ambition flowed in Kenos like blood, a driving urge to be the King that claimed the wild lands as his own. All would remember his name for millennia to come. He was confident of his victory the day his troops first set foot in the _Hudar. _

And for more than a year, the soldiers failed miserably. Blood stained the sand and rock, corpses stacked in piles along the way, while vultures circled above, black eyes ever-hungry. Heavy with steel armor and swords, the soldiers were no match for the _Hudar_ warriors on horseback. Light as the wind, they sailed through the King's ranks, curved swords, bows, and spears tearing the eastern intruders to pieces. The _Hudar_ wore robes of purest black, headdresses hewn from skulls, and scarves around their faces. The dark, tattered material flapped in the wind, billowing around them in wraithlike terror. Their horses were nimble-footed, quick, and as fearless as their riders. The few soldiers that made it back to Norr reported as such, calling the warriors _Za'hava_. A _Hudar_ word that translated to: _one that walks the veil_.

Furious with impending failure, Kenos scoured his nation for anything that might give him an edge to defeat the reckless barbarians of the west. His generals squabbled over attack patterns, rueful as they examined maps the survivors brought back, trying to piece together a land that was vastly uncharted. The soldier's armor was changed—lightened drastically. Weapons were honed, switched out with longer spears, shorter bows. Different horses were brought in from the south, in hopes their hotter blood would contend with the _Za'hava_ steeds that ran like the wind. Nothing seemed to work, and as the body count increased, and national favor for the excursion dwindled, King Kenos grew desperate. It was far too late to give up now. His name would forever be sullied, his soldier's deaths in vain. He turned to the gods.

There were countless temples scattered across Norr, dedicated to the old gods. The faith of the people evolved as the vast land did, becoming an eclectic, peaceful religion, flourishing in the diversity. To go against the gods, to try and play their game was a death march, and the citizens of Norr were fierce in their beliefs. Kenos consulted his priests, asking for guidance in his desires to secure profit for Norr. Time and time again, be it priest or priestess, from the north and south, the answer was clear: leave the _Hudar_ be. It was a fool's game to try and tame the wastelands. The King was not deterred. It took weeks of tedious searching, but at the King's request, one priest was able to track down the one true prophet hidden away in the desert.

A young woman, now twenty-some years old. Born in the wilds of _Hudar_, she was found as a young child, wandering the wastelands near the southern province. A soldier discovered the skinny, lanky girl playing with coyote bones in the shadows of a canyon. Clothed in scraps of hides and barefoot, the dark-haired, disheveled thing looked as friendly and child-like as a scavenging jackal. He was on the verge of delivering a killing blow to the barbarian whelp when the child, startled by his footsteps, looked up at him. Her eyes were of darkest violet, set in a thin, alabaster face, framed with black, wind-swept hair. Upon recognizing the soldier for what he was, her lips curled back. She let loose an unearthly growl, taking a defensive stance, one long bone held in her dirty grip like a sword. An appearance such as hers, namely the eyes, was unheard of in Norr. Violet eyes? No, he couldn't slay this child, barbarian or not. Surely this girl was an omen from the gods. A superstitious lot, the soldier chased down the girl, trying to avoid being bitten or scratched while his comrades laughed and howled at her ferociousness. What a little terror she was! Hissing and spitting like a cornered cat, throwing stones, striking dangerously precise blows. Though they were rarely seen, it was believed that the _Hudar_ were a hostile race, and this child did nothing to disprove that rumor. Once captured, the soldier took her to the nearest temple, delivering her into the arms of the Priestess of Sekhmet.

The gods of the south were numerous, but it was Sekhmet, Set, and Thoth that reined the most attention from the people of the desert. Sekhmet, the lioness, protector of the King. Set, the god of the desert and chaos. Thoth, the Ibis-headed god of wisdom, magic and the moon. Priests and priestess' of all the neighboring temples came together to see the jackal-child with the violet eyes, agreeing that there was something prophetic to her appearance. Raised under the strict tutelage of Khalimat, the head priestess, the woman grew into a skilled servant of the temples. It was believed that her _Hudar_ blood and civilized upbringing honed the otherwise blasphemous craft into a worthy, precious skill. The woman could part the veil and see into the future.

It was this skill that the King called upon, summoning her to Olisgard in much haste. Having no choice in the matter when your sovereign has made up his mind, she went, wary of the great city. She'd never been out of the southern province, never allowed to explore west of the citadel. The gentle desert was familiar, and the dark recesses of the temples her home. Her arrival into the palace was a highly anticipated affair, rumors being spread like wildfire as she journeyed with stern escorts to the King.

A young priestess with a precious skill—the only one in existence. Eyes like jewels, skin pale as the winter moon. Surely she was a fallen demi-god sent here to bring glory for Norr. The most prolific rumor, always whispered for fear of being heard by the wrong company, was that she was a _Hudar_ witch. A wildling trained and molded in proper society, but a witch none the less. She knew their ways, their secrets; their weaknesses! She was their ticket to the riches at the foot of _The Spire!_

It was that hushed rumor that turned out to be true.

When asked to use her gift by the King, she thought little of its consequence at the time. He wanted her to look into the lands of _Hudar_. Seek out the nomadic leader; tell what lies beyond the Targantis range. She didn't need to use her skill for that. She grew up ten years' time in that mountain range. She knew it well, even being absent from it for nigh fifteen years. It was late summer then, and Daskis would have the hoard in the lowlands, grazing on the last of the sweet grass. Before long, they would make the arduous journey north, to the wintering highlands of the Black Lake. She told the King such, to which he nodded fervently, muttering to a tall, round man in generals clothing. The military uniform brought back ill memories for her, of the first time she saw a soldier. The day she was snatched from her land, taken to a dreadfully unfamiliar place against her will. The sight of soldiers sent her simmering ire boiling.

The priest escorting her, Favir he was named, sensed the impending rebellion in her posture. With an unbelievably fast jab, he drove the heel of his palm into her side, cutting short the frown growing on her lips, replacing it with a quiet gasp. She glared at Favir instead, those dark eyes piercing like daggers. She never liked him, especially when he was her supposed keeper. She didn't like being treated like a wild animal now that she wasn't secluded to the desert. Favir and the majority of the population outside the temples still believed her to be the jackal-child of _Hudar_. It was insulting. She hadn't bitten anyone in years.

The King turned back to her then, asking if there were any trails she knew of that the _Hudar_ traveled. Of course she knew the trails. Why would this King need to know that? She pretended to be a civil citizen of Norr, a polite, disciplined servant of the desert. For the most part, her life was pleasant here. The people of the temples adored her; she had food, shelter, clothing, a place to call her own. She was welcomed there, but never respected as an equal. In turn, she had very little allegiance with Norr. And now it's very King was asking her suspicious questions of her homeland. When she gave little useful information, the King grew impatient.

"Some prophet she is!" he snarled, fist slamming on the map spread across the table. "Priest—have you lied to me?"

"No, of course not, your grace!" Favir exclaimed nervously, hands held wide in placation. "The, ah, _lady_ is just weary from her journey here." Sending a scornful look at her, he then smiled at the King. "Give her a day to rest, you grace, and I promise you. She will give you all the answers you seek."

Brow furrowed in thought, the King turned his sky blue eyes to her, examining the supposed prophet of the desert. He noted the flicker of mistrust in her dark gaze, the taut set of her jaw, the tight coil of her thin shoulders. She looked uncomfortable, rigid, on guard. Her hair was long and the color of the night sky, braided loosely in some places, held back from her face with a piece of leather chord. Definitely not a style of Olisgard, though she was quiet beautiful, in a rough spun, scowling way. But what in the name of Hades was she wearing? Black robes, tattered and near transparent in places, several fraying scarves wrapped around her neck. Rags, in his opinion. At least she was wearing sandals, albeit unkempt leather ones. Didn't the people of the temples wear white? Ah, but she wasn't a priestess, he reminded himself. Prophet or not, she was a _Hudar _woman, clad in the traveling clothes of her people. She was a misplaced soul in this land, looking every bit the part of what the rumors spoke; a _witch_. He dare not speak that in her presence. Not for fear of offending her, but for fear of her refusing to aid him. He had a feeling, from her aloof gaze, that threats and torture would be completely wasted on her. He would bide his time.

"Alright, Brother Favir. You're right. It was rude of me to expect something of her after such a long journey to get here." Kenos gestured eloquently to the door, and a young servant girl darted in, eyes downcast, obediently waiting at his side. "See to it that my guest is quartered comfortably for the night. Priest, I assume you will require a bed in the palace temple, yes?"

Favir hesitated, glancing at his hellion charge. She leered a crooked, nasty smile in his direction, quickly hidden. "Your grace, I've been sworn to guard the Prophet. She is very valuable to the Temple of Sekhmet, you see. I must remain by her side until her return to the temple, or the head Priestess will have me beheaded—"

"Nonsense," the King mused, waving the notion away. "My personal guard walks these halls every minute of the day. The Prophet will be safe and sound in her room, I assure you." Kenos looked at her then, waiting for those odd violet eyes to dart in his direction. "You would prefer some time to yourself, wouldn't you?" he asked.

She looked up at him, silent for a moment, contemplative. "Yes, your grace." She sent a calculating stare to Favir. "I would like that very much."

The Priest's scowl grew ten-fold. There was no love lost between the two. The King happily slapped Favir on the back, jarring the thin-boned man into a startled, nervous smile. "See? The woman is weary of your company! Come Brother, you and I will fetch a drink, and I will give you a personal tour of the temple proper."

Favir looked horrified at the notion of letting the Prophet out of his sight. "But, your grace, I really must insist—" he stuttered. Kenos paused near the door, turning a calm, final look to the man. This topic was no longer up for discussion, if it ever was at all. "As you wish, your grace," he sighed.

The servant girl walked up to the Prophet, bowing faintly. The gesture was completely foreign; no one ever bowed for _her_. "My lady, this way," she indicated a doorway. Quirking her lips in a bemused smile, the Prophet wiggled her fingers in a slow wave to the glaring Favir, then followed the young girl into the hall. Free of that blasted priest, she exhaled a sigh of relief.

"Great stars, I never thought I'd be rid of him," she murmured. Brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, she studied the young servant hurrying in front of her. Perhaps fifteen or sixteen, she was lithe and well dressed for a servant. Then again, this was _the palace_. They were civilized here, sophisticated, refined. Like so many here, this girl had warm brown hair neatly styled, olive skin smooth, posture well trained. Her determination at her task was evident, and making the woman weary again. "Calm down, young one. I'm in no hurry to be locked in another room."

Soft and insistent, the girl spoke. "My lady, the King instructed me to—"

"Yes, I know. I was there," she cut her off, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, pulling the girl to a stop in the hall. "What is your name?"

She looked aghast at the question. "My lady? Did I do something to offend you?"

Now the woman looked perplexed. "No. Not at all. I'm… I'm sure you've noticed that I'm not from around here. All of this is a little new to me."

Shyly, the girl nodded. "You are the Prophet from the southern province, of the Temple of Sekhmet, the lioness, protector of the Crown. You are bound to the Priestess Khalimat, here on request from the King."

Brows high, the woman regarded the girl in quiet shock. "How do you know that?"

"Everyone knows that," the girl replied, wringing her hands now. "We really should keep going, my lady."

_Everyone knows that?_ The Prophet frowned. "I'm not moving another step until you tell me your name, at least. And stop addressing me as _my lady_. It's dreadful." She smiled gently, hoping not to scare the girl. She could never tell when her smile grew too wolfish, too…_Hudar_.

Going a little pale, the girl licked her lips. "My name is Melissah, my la—" she paused, awkwardly finishing with a helpless gesture.

"That's a lovely name." It was, wasn't it? A Norrian name. Like the one given to her by the Priestess of the temple. Melissah's light brown eyes were silent, but inquisitive. "My name is Raven," she said softly, unexpectedly, the word sounding odd from her own lips.

Melissah blinked in awe. "Like the color of your hair, and the companion of Odin. First pledged to Sekhmet, now named after the watchful eyes of The All Father of the North—oh, my lady, you have a lovely name as well! No wonder you're called a Prophet!"

Smile slowly vanishing, Raven looked down the hall, like always, feeling terribly alone in this foreign land. "We should go, shouldn't we?" she prompted faintly. Nodding in agreement, Melissah took up her quick pace, leading the way down the expansive halls of the palace. They passed a trio of guards jeering in the corner, growing silent at the odd sight in the King's halls. Raven sent them a cool glance, studying their uniforms, their weapons and armor. The metal seemed thinner than the kind worn by the last soldiers she'd seen. Altered, advanced almost. What would spur that change? Melissah just hurried on, gesturing to keep up, and Raven followed, quiet and pensive.

They turned the corner, crossing paths with a majestic woman. The servant girl nearly jumped out of her skin, suddenly plastered against the wall, brow nearly touching the floor in her curtsy. "_Your grace!_ We didn't—my apologies, I did not see you!" she said, voice tight with fear. "Please, excuse us."

Raven just stood there blocking the way, staring at a pair of fuchsia eyes nigh a foot in front of her. The woman was tall, taller than herself, and nearly her opposite. Golden hair fell to just her shoulders, pinned back in place, accentuating a beautiful, lightly tanned face, and those striking, almond shaped eyes. _Cat-like_, Raven thought, _sharp, sly, intelligent…breathtaking_. A swirl of excitement shot through her. She'd never seen another soul with eyes as different a color as her own. Yet here was a Norrian woman, adorned with a silver headdress, robed as elegantly sophisticated as imaginable, staring right back at her with a similar look of shock and wonder.

"No apology necessary," the woman said calmly, eyes never leaving Raven's. They were regarding her with growing interest. "And who might you be, charming dark traveler?"

Raven blinked suddenly, at an unexpected loss for words.

"Your grace," Melissah straightened, hovering at her side. "This is the Prophet from the south, here to aid the King."

Her brows shot up at that revelation, gaze trailing down the Prophet's clothing in silent musing, ending on the pale toes peeking past the ends of her desert-weary sandals. So this was the rumored witch, come to aid Kenos in his arrogant game. She certainly dressed as a _Hudar_, and her skin was pale like the cold desert folk. But sweet Athena, those eyes! There was something in that violet gaze, some deep, slinking thought that sent her heart pounding. This woman was terribly curious, even with the layers of tired onyx garb, dusted with desert sand.

"Thank you, Melissah, but I'm sure the Prophet can speak," she said lightly, inquiring gaze settling on the dark-haired woman. The seconds ticked by and Raven did nothing other than stare, that same wary, puzzled wonder etched in her expression. It was as if she lacked all articulation, rendered silent and unmoving, vastly amusing—she dare say _adorable_. She smiled at the Prophet, easing a faint, teasing gesture at her. "Unless of course, the cat's got her tongue," she mused.

Raven immediately flashed her teeth, quickly catching herself from a snarl. Taking the hint from the wide eyes of the servant girl, she took a polite step backwards, giving the sovereign some space. "Your …_grace_," Raven bowed faintly, defiantly never letting her eyes drop. "Excuse my rudeness. I'm but a barbaric cull from the south."

"The west, you mean," she said gently, gesturing for her to straighten. "And you look like no cull to me."

Raven observed the woman carefully, gauging the intent behind the obvious mention of her heritage. This was definitely the Queen, King Kenos' wife—what was her name? She couldn't remember ever being told what it was. The royalty so seldom visited the southern desert. "Yes. From _Hudar_," she replied without inflection, ambivalent.

It was noted. The Queen nodded slowly. "Dominick has dragged you from the temples in the south, I see. He tells me he hopes you can help with charting maps of the wild lands. I do hope he's letting you rest before this ridiculous charade."

Maps? The King wanted to chart the _Hudar_? "That is where young Melissah was leading me." Eyes flickering to the distressed servant girl, Raven quirked her lips in an odd smile. "_Your grace_."

The Queen was endlessly amused by the forced pleasantries the Prophet was spewing, instantly picking up on the rebellion, the scarcely masked contempt. There was a fire in her, searing hot, wild and unchecked. An exciting, foreign guest in her otherwise dreadfully monotonous kingdom. She wondered if this _Hudar_ wildling would entertain the idea of joining her in conversation. There were strong words in that woman, restrained, well repressed. Fuchsia eyes narrowed mischievously, wondering what else the rigid woman had been abstaining from in her strict desert temple …_Well, let her be for now, lest she hates me like the lot of them_.

Clapping her hands together, The Queen grinned. "Excellent. You'll be well taken care of here, I assure you." She smiled, something hovering at the edges of it, too shifting for Raven to decipher as those pretty eyes ran over her again. "I'll leave you to it, then. I've business to attend to. I will see you at dinner tonight, shy, nameless Prophet?"

Nodding immediately, Raven side-stepped, giving way to the Queen with a murmured affirmation. With that lingering smile, the Queen turned the corner, disappearing from sight. Raven stared at the empty space, queasy, baffled, and disappointed. She could have handled that better. The first person to set her heart racing and she gawks like a wide-eyed rabbit, unable to even give her own name. Utterly embarrassing. That woman, _the Queen_, was fascinating.

"I think you're going to give me an ulcer," Melissah sighed, brushing non-existent wrinkles from her skirt. "That was the Queen, you do know that, right?"

"Yes. The Queen—what is her name?" Raven asked intently.

"Queen Alyssa Norxis, wife of Dominick Kenos, sovereign ruler of Norr—and you will do wise to address her as _your grace_," she warned, noting Raven's pondering expression, the longing thought curving her lips. "Now please, _my lady_, we must go. I fear who else we might run into."

This charade, as the fine Queen had put it, turned into a prolonged affair. Once finally required to use her gifts, to part the veil and see across time, Raven obliged. There was little choice in the matter, and the request seemed harmless enough. The King assured her he was just interested in her culture, interested in reaching out to Daskis, forming an amiable pact. Norr was known to be a peaceful nation, had been for centuries. It was foolish to think even someone as mighty as the King would seek to rule over a land as wild and unmanageable as the wastelands. She had no reason to believe King Dominick Kenos was doing anything other than what he said. Seeking to meet with Daskis.

Raven predicted the very day and specific path that Daskis would lead the hoard north, through the narrow mountain passes wrought with sheer cliffs, treacherous winds, and bone-chilling snows. Banking on her alleged skill, the King grew eager with this new information. If Kenos couldn't defeat the _Hudar_ hoard with its _Za'hava_ wraiths, he would slay the man behind the wolf skull and fire-breathing horse. The _Hudar_ were nomadic. Without a strong leader, they were helpless against the Norrian force. Assembling a team of well-trained northern soldiers, Kenos gave them modest directions. Scale the mountains, locate the correct pass. Wait for Daskis to approach, kill him, and scatter his hoard. Nothing more, nothing less. With the day set, nearly three months in the future, King Kenos sent word to the Temple of Sekhmet. The Prophet was to remain under his care until the following spring. Brother Favir was relieved of his duties and sent back to the desert. It was a magnificently simple plan.

The victory celebration grew louder as the throne room neared. Raven refused to look at anyone as she prowled through the halls, in a hurry to get this audience over with. Overwhelming guilt and anguish soured her gut, burned in her rapidly beating heart.

"Prophet!" someone shouted. "You bring glory to Norr!"

"Look—look! It's the witch."

"Shh! She can hear you! She might curse your foolish face off, idiot."

The murmurs continued as she made her way through the throngs, closer to her own agonizing death of what soul she held onto. Raven stewed in her dark robes, gnawing her tongue, nails digging flesh from her own palms as she obediently went to the King.

She was raised in ignorance in the desert. She had no knowledge of the King's ambitions to conquer _Hudar_. She knew _nothing_. Not until it was far, far too late. As soon as the date and place left her lips, to be exact. Not moments after, the Queen burst into the room, cat eyes wide. She quickly discovered what Kenos had asked of the misplaced _Hudar_ captive, and furious, Alyssa nearly skewered her horrible little husband where he stood. Kindly, sadly, The Queen took Raven aside then, explaining what the King had in mind. It was absolutely horrifying. For three months Raven paced the confines of the palace, anguish eating away her soul, desperately hoping she was wrong, that her skills were capable of error. That some twist of fate would change the course of time—change the future before it happened. It didn't. Just as she predicted, on the third day of November, Daskis led his people through the hidden, narrow Yvelt pass on the Chasi Mountain. And there was an army of two-thousand Norrians waiting for him.

News of his death traveled quickly, wrenching something from Raven's heart, rendering her a shaking, horrid mess. It wasn't until some weeks later that the soldiers returned from their journey, bearing the sword and great wolf skull helm of the feared Daskis of _Hudar_. That was the cause of the celebration. It was official now. King Kenos had defeated the barbarian war-lord. The path to the west, to the base of _The Spire_ was now free for the taking. And she had been the tool with which he conquered the wild. Raven felt violently ill.

Turning the corner, the sight of the two thrones at the far end of the room made her dizzy with rage. There, hung on the wall above the King's chair, was the wolf skull helm, and beneath it, his well-seasoned scimitar. A trophy. A mocking reminder of her casual betrayal of her very heritage. Everywhere there were people dancing, drinking; frolicking in the great room, a whirlwind of colors and bright, smiling faces. Raven parted them like a silent wraith, unusually pale behind her complacent expression, plastered on with sheer, trembling willpower. She was the King's Prophet. His pet _witch_. A tamed, domesticated jackal-child allowed to walk among the civilized world. After helping with this victory, the jubilant Norrians believed they had nothing to fear from her. The sight of her drab, depressing presence was brushed aside, something expected and unimposing, like a shadow in the late evening.

And there, lounging on his throne, glowing with too much drink, was Dominick Kenos. His short blonde hair, those sky blue eyes, handsome, confident face. Every single trait was a glaring ridicule of her very existence in his kingdom. Upon spotting her approaching, King Kenos straightened in his chair, gesturing with a raised glass, shouting across the hall. "Ah! My lovely dark Prophet! Come, quickly. I must tell you something."

Keeping the same pace, Raven finally came to a silent halt at the foot of the stairs leading to the thrones. Glancing up, she steeled her expression, keeping it bland and unreadable. "You graces," she said evenly, dark gaze flickering to the frowning Queen seated beside Kenos, lingering on those remorseful fuchsia eyes.

"Dearest Raven," Kenos cooed, setting down his glass, peaking his large hands before his lips. "I want to officially extend my deepest appreciation for your …assistance in this…endeavor," he blinked slowly, stifling a hiccup. "I will have further need for your skills. I've sent word to your priestess in the south, and she agrees. Your appointments in the palace will be moved to the northern tower. They're larger, nicer, befit for my Prophet. You'll like them. You can see the great _Spire_ from your window!"

The Queen startled, horrified, gaping at her husband.

_How wonderful. Closer to the guards. More secure. Easier to keep tabs on me_. Raven swallowed back the quivering desire to lunge forward and rip out his throat with her bare hands. "As you wish, your grace," she nodded once, so very slowly, willing her voice not to tighten. _Do not betray his trust so soon. Do not let them see you suffer._

Smiling good naturedly, Kenos hefted his glass high, waving to the wolf skull helm displayed above for all to see. "Isn't it impressive, Prophet? A true warrior's trinket, befit to grace my halls. I'm sure you've seen many like this, but never worn so proudly, eh?" He leaned forward then, eager, excitedly. "Tell me, use your gifts! What are the wretched _Hudar_ doing as we speak?"

"Will you not allow her an _ounce_ of pride!" Queen Norxis roared at him, venom in her words. He balked at the outburst, so loud the crowd quieted, all eyes turning to the thrones. Quickly recovering, the King took a long sip of his wine, making a graceful wave of his hand.

"Of course, of course. You're dismissed, Prophet. Do as you please tonight. Go on."

"Thank you, your grace," Raven replied hollowly, a knife of hatred stabbing her heart with each beat. Turning, she left the hall without another word, another glance, another breath. It was a long, throbbing walk, dulling to a numb tingle across every last nerve. There was scarce room left to contain her anger. She would either erupt or die, and neither was favorable at the present. Shaking, she strode through the halls, hood pulled low over her eyes, worn sandals quiet on the stone floors.

She'd almost made it to her humble quarters when the sound of footsteps caught her ear. They were coming from behind. Turning with the subdued, resented grace of someone forced into the lesser class, Raven waited for the figure to turn the corner, praying to the gods that it wasn't someone here to bother her. She couldn't bear one more congratulatory exclamation from the goddamned _Norrians_. She might snap. Her rigid stance immediately faltered as she focused on a familiar face, tear-streaked and distraught. The Queen, Alyssa Norxis, sent a searching glance in both directions before opening the door to Raven's room, slipping inside. Heart thundering in her chest, Raven followed, bolting the door behind them.

Immediately, warm hands grasped Raven's face, gently forcing the pale woman to look up. "Raven, I am so sorry," Alyssa whispered, anguish in her voice. "I can't believe he would say any of that—he's a despicable ass. I could _kill _him for this!"

Comforted with the physical contact, Raven placed her hand over the Queen's, managing a small smile at the ferocity in her words. The trait was quite endearing to the wilding. The situation was atrocious, but at least she had this; at least she had someone on her side. "Let's not speak of it then. Because you cannot kill the King. Someone even more appalling will take his place, and then I'll be cast back to the chains of my desert hell." She smiled in challenge then. "Would you dare follow me there for your conversations, _your grace_?"

Alyssa flashed a wide, rueful grin, kissing Raven fiercely, pressing her into the closed door. "I've told you not to call me that," she warned, lips brushing against her cheek, hands sliding down the dark, tattered robes, searching for the ties to release them. "Especially here."

Raven raised her brows mockingly, draping her arms around Alyssa's neck. "But, your grace—it's what you are. The Queen of Norr. What would the good citizens think if they heard the barbarian witch addressing their sovereign in such a passing casual manner?"

Alyssa discarded the heap of scarves from Raven's shoulders, lips toying with the expanse of neck now exposed. "What would they say if they discovered I'd bedded the barbarian witch every night since her appearance in Olisgard?" she mused darkly, sliding her hands beneath the robes, yearning to touch that unbelievably smooth skin hidden beneath the rough-spun fabric.

Raven made a low sound, allowing the woman to push the robes from her shoulders. "I believe they would likely kill me. Regardless of the circumstances, it would be my fault. You see, I've bewitched you."

Tugging Raven away from the door, Alyssa led her to the Prophet's simple bed, chuckling pleasantly. "Truly, I think it's the other way around—" she gasped, suddenly shoved onto the bed. Raven slid above her, long, pale fingers twining with her own, pinning their arms above her head.

"You have," Raven conceded softly, lips hovering so close. "You put a claim on me the moment our eyes met. My people call it _sira kavi_. It does not translate to your tongue very well, but it's something like _the exchange without words_."

Alyssa smiled at that, shifting her hips, pressing upwards against her. "That sounds strikingly accurate. Release my hands and we can continue. Words aren't necessary right now," she mused, playfully nipping Raven's elbow.

"Mmm, whatever my grace wishes," she murmured, moving her hands to the beautiful gown masking the gorgeous body beneath her. With deft fingers, she peeled away the opulent material, casting it to the floor. The warmth of their bodies now touching, Raven kissed her deeply, trying to fill the ache in her soul. Love, however foolish, was an unexpected, welcomed face in a sea of despairing bleakness. She clung to it, to Alyssa, praying each night that their secret affair would go undiscovered. For sparse moments at a time, always in this woman's company, Raven felt, truly, like a person again. There may be no future for them as a pair. This may end terribly. She knew; Alyssa knew. They didn't care.

And like so many nights before, the two of them moved together in a stream of moonlight, a mingled wave of gold and black, making every last moment last.

Alyssa's most cherished times were these; lying still and quiet, wrapped around the warm, content Raven, both wearing hushed, sated smiles. Normally, she would dress and take her leave before the sun broke the horizon, unobtrusively returning to her own chambers, to the bed she shared with the man she loathed from the first moment they were betrothed. But tonight, with pain still too fresh, Alyssa didn't leave Raven's side. The peculiar wildling; the ferocious jackal-child; the fearless _Hudar_ witch. She was but a purring kitten now, curled up beside her, dark locks splayed across her shoulders as she slept. With a gentle motion, Alyssa traced the deep scars across Raven's back, the remnants of a disobedient childhood under the care of the fierce Sekhmet Priestess. Beaten, whipped, starved—forced into complacency.

Fresh tears pricked Alyssa's eyes. She grieved deeply for this woman, every moment of her life forever changed when she was taken from her rightful home, transplanted into the chains of servitude. Even now, she was trapped in this palace, not free to choose her own path. It was folly to think there was something she could do to change this, but she did so anyway. For days she pondered, schemed, plotted for a way to free the Prophet from the temple. Royal decree only went so far. No one, not even Kenos dared go against the gods in this matter. Priests and priestess' were the embodiment of those deities here, and Khali had a tight claim on the Queen's clandestine lover. Eventually she would grow tired of the Kings demands, and revoke his agreement, bidding the wildling Prophet back to the temple. It pained her to think of never seeing Raven again. It pained her to get up each morning, not having her sleeping at her side. Everything about the situation pained her—and yet, just one look from those violet eyes soothed away her troubles.

With the soft light of dawn seeping through the window, Raven stirred, blinking sleepy, mystified eyes. She jerked upright. "Alyssa, its morning!" she breathed, nearly falling out of bed. "Holy mother of Set, someone will surely see you leave now!"

Unperturbed, Alyssa grabbed a handful of ebony hair, tugging the worried woman back to her side, kissing her softly, easing on top of her. "Then perhaps I shouldn't leave yet," she offered, brushing fingertips across her dark brow, smiling warmly. Raven was truly breathtaking. Seeing her freshly awake and hair disheveled, well, more so than usual, was blissfully heartwarming. "I'm the Queen, after all. No one dares to question me."

Raven moaned in protest, hands greedily sliding across the curving back of the Queen. "You will be the death of me. Is that what you want?"

"Hardly. But if I recall correctly, I've invoked _sira_ _kavi_. And as long as you're mine, I will take advantage of every waking second."

Flashing a slow, lazy smile, Raven peered up at her through half-lidded eyes. "As you wish, _your grace_."

"Brat," Alyssa hissed, pinching the mocking woman. "I will throw you out this window."

"Then I suppose I'll have to learn to fly, because I will never cease to mock you, Queen Alyssa Norxis, wife of King Dominick Kenos, sovereign ruler of Norr."

"Oh, it's an outrageous title," she groaned, rolling to her feet. "Do not remind me of my marriage to that exasperating man. You, of all people, should never want to see him, let along speak his name."

Resting on her side, Raven watched Alyssa dress, crooked smile pleased at the view. In the bright light of morning, that golden hair shown marvelously, reflecting in the fuchsia irises of her exotic eyes. "Ah, but I can't hope of that to ever happen. I'm his lovely dark Prophet, after all."

"_Ha!_ He does not know how you humor him so. I know the depths of your hatred for him. If ever given the chance, you would rip the life from him in an instant. And oh, how I would love you more because of it. Hm, what a terrible thing to think. Isn't it terrible?"

"It's a wonderful thing to think if you are _Hudar_," Raven mused. "Which I am, your grace."

"Indeed, you are, Prophet," she replied, easing back into their practiced roles. Straightening, Alyssa motioned for her to button up the back of her dress. Raven obliged, planting a few soft kisses on her neck as she did. Looking presentable again, Alyssa retrieved the dark, tattered robes from the floor, setting them on the bed beside Raven. "I do wish you'd let me give you nicer clothes, though."

Rallying a proud mien, Raven slung on her traditional _Hudar_ garb, lashing it with a swiftness bred from necessity. "I'm lucky to have procured them at all. You Norrians seem to find the attire distasteful. But if you were out west, you wouldn't give it a second thought." Wrapping the scarves around her neck, she tucked them in, adjusting and settling the soft fabric, then slipped into her sandals. "Besides, in my land, the more tattered the clothes, the more respected the _Za'hava_."

Alyssa paused at that, turning from where she was listening at the door. "Are you suggesting that you are _Za'hava_?"

Raven quirked a thin brow, pulling up the hood of her robes. "I'm suggesting nothing. You're the enemy, after all."

Alyssa walked up to Raven, tipping the hood back, cupping her pale face in her hands. "I do hope that's not what you really think of me."

Eyes closed, Raven leaned into the touch, inhaling the faint scent of spices that still clung to her skin. Looking up at her, she produced a shy smile. "No, of course not, my love. You give me something to live for."

Oh, how she could just melt at those words… The Queen of Norr did not melt. She was a shrewd, ambitious, clever ruler, partaking in an innocent, whimsical love affair. She was being foolish, but gods be damned, she didn't care. Alyssa kissed Raven one last time, deeply, passionately, and silently took her leave, being sure to scan the halls for prying eyes. Smiling despite herself, Raven lingered in the doorway, watching the Queen's hips sway for her benefit as she walked away. Quickly hardening her expression, Raven pulled shut the door to her chambers, heading in the opposite direction, to the kitchens.

Neither Queen nor Prophet saw the stone faced Priest shadowed in the recesses of an alcove, watching their brief appearance together at the _Hudar's_ door, cataloging their exchange for the adulterous act that it was. With a malicious grin, Favir straightened his white robes, eagerly following the meandering steps of Raven.


	2. Chapter 2

**_One That Walks the Veil_**

_Chapter Two_

* * *

It was several days before Brother Favir had arrived at the palace of Olisgard, following the news of Norr's victory in the west. The Prophet, it seemed, had delivered the pertinent information, assuring Kenos' plan of slaying the _Hudar_ leader. Having spent seven years watching over Raven, this revelation seemed a bit odd to the Priest. Favir wasn't completely convinced of her domestication—no man with an ounce of intelligence would think you could take the wild out of a wildling, or break an exiled soul of their yearning for home. Raven was neither broken nor tame. Would she really aid the King in ruining her own people? Was this all a trick, some complicated ploy to seek revenge? With Daskis dead and the _Hudar_ scattered to the wind, it was hard to say. Favir was mistrustful of the witch ever since he first laid eyes on her.

Khalimat was the head Priestess of Sekhmet's main temple in the southern province, and the strikingly rigid woman had a way with molding young, impressionable minds. A way to give them purpose, direction, a chance at redemption. At forty-six, she had seen many troubled adolescents walk through the temple doors. Orphans, vandals, delinquents. Souls generally drawn to the spiritual realm. People seeking status and power. What Khalimat hadn't seen was a violet-eyed wildling girl being dragged kicking and snarling through the temple doors, spitting curses in the _Hudar_ tongue. The arrival caused quite a stir in the normally militant halls, an unavoidable side effect when residing in a temple so close to the Citadel. Even the most decorated Priests shuffled into the main hall, peered with wide-spread curiosity at the screaming creature causing the commotion. The Priestess immediately set about to examine the condition of the child, fearing the Norrian soldiers might have harmed the _Hudar_ during her unexpected and unwarranted capture. The girl stilled long enough for the Priestess to reach close; then she viciously bit the woman's arm, drawing blood. Khalimat's retaliation amounted to a sharp slap across the face that sent the girl skidding along the floor, dazed, but only for a moment. Leaping to her feet, the jackal-child rattled off a seething, muttered sound, dark eyes locked with Khalimat's interested gaze. There was something potent lurking in that child. The Priestess spent the better part of the first month beating the girl until she was near senseless. Only when she finally yielded, exhausted, trembling in the sand, did Khalimat begin teaching the whelp how to function again.

Very few knew enough of the _Hudar _language to hold an intelligent conversation, so the girl's real name could never be deciphered. Also, she would never give it. For quite some time she was called nothing pleasant. Confined to inner rooms of the temple, the girl would pace incessantly, desperate in her need to see the sky. She detested being locked indoors, would scratch at the door, growl out her displeasure in the newly learned Norrian tongue. The girl was vastly intelligent, a fast learner, and harbored a great capacity for cynicism. Once allowed out of her confines, she was immediately deemed a flight risk. She was always assigned an escort, and it was quickly learned that whoever that unfortunate soul was for the day had to pay very close attention. The girl would take off at a dead sprint unexpectedly, somehow always knowing which direction to be west. She would climb out windows, disappear in the shadows; slip out doors. On one occasion she flung herself off a steep cliff, and those that witnessed it swear to this day that she flew. Arms spread, wild mane flapping in the breeze like some mythical beast from northern legends. Unperturbed by her valiant efforts at freedom, Khalimat took to calling the wretched little thing Raven. It seemed fitting, and certainly a more respectable title than what the adepts and servants of the temples would call her.

By the time Favir first met her, Raven was nineteen, and a drastically matured version of herself. Dressed in plain tan robes, hair neatly styled, dark eyes downcast, she looked all the part of a bond servant. And when he was summoned to the Temple, Raven was standing obediently at Khalimat's side, a tame, well trained shadow. Now fifty-five, the Priestess' hair was beginning to white, streaking the long brown wave that fell around her shoulders. Having dealt with Raven for nine years surely contributed to the early aging, but it only made the woman that much more sophisticated. Fierce. Respected.

"Well met, Brother," Khalimat greeted, perched on her chair in the temple proper. She was even more impressive in person than Favir had anticipated.

The smell of sandalwood hung in the air, fragrant and pleasant. Braziers lit the space, casting a welcoming glow across the white marble walls and floors. This was the moment he had been waiting for since first becoming a priest. Being inducted into the Temple of Sekhmet. Who knew what opportunities awaited him now? He might get appointed to serve at the Palace temple in Olisgard as the emissary from the south! This was an opportunity of a lifetime. Giddy with excitement, he took a proud step forward.

"Hail, Priestess!" he bowed low in respect. "I'm honored to be called to your temple."

"I do hope your journey here was pleasant. The Gentle Desert is a deceiving name in the dead of summer," she smiled slowly, reminding him of a lioness. She didn't look friendly, and the gesture may have been more of a bearing of teeth than an expression of contentment.

"It was long, indeed. A week and a day it took," he replied, eyeing Raven with mild annoyance. It was customary for a guest to be offered food and drink upon arrival, especially on an occasion as important as this. He was about to receive an assignment from Khalimat, and this servant girl was just standing there, staring off into space like an empty headed twit. "You there, servant. Fetch me some water, will you? And be quick about it." When the girl only slowly raised her gaze to meet his, the Priest clenched his fists at his side. "Did you not hear me, whelp? I've just crossed a desert! Does she not speak a civilized tongue, my lady?"

It was an honest mistake, if such a mistake really could be honest, but the Priest had a penchant for being haughty and condescending.

"I've more a mind to choke you with those pretty rags you're wearing," Raven snapped suddenly, voice as comforting as stone. "Do you think you would look good in blue, priest? It would match your eyes."

"My lady!" the Priest squawked to Khalimat, gesturing in shock. "What atrocious manners! How can you abide while she speaks such a way to me—and in the presence of the gods?"

"Make no mistake, Brother, she is no slave to appearances," the priestess mused, having grown a fondness for her charge's attitude. Raven knew enough to refrain from biting the hand that fed her, which was also the hand that would gladly slap the spite from her mouth before she could spit it out. You had to earn Raven's respect before she treated you with it, either by intellectually or physically besting her. It was the _Hudar_ way, not the Norrian, and something too difficult to break. A compromise was made; Raven listened to Khalimat either outright, or after a painful reminder that the Priestess' aim with a rock was deadly accurate. "This is my Prophet, Raven. She is _Hudar_, and you would do well to remember that."

Favir looked horrified, silent for an obscenely long pause. "My lady, I do not understand—" A strange little laugh sounded, and he jerked his head around, gawking at Raven. She was staring at him like a wolf did, pining over a freshly born lamb. "You let a barbarian into your sacred space? She's probably a witch—you know how unstable they are. I mean_, look _at her!"

Khalimat's gaze sharpened to dagger points, voice quiet and warning. "Watch your tone, Priest. You do not question me."

He immediately relented, hands spread wide. "My lady, I apologize. I forgot my place." Sending another quick glance to Raven, he needlessly straightened his green robes. "You have summoned me here. What will you have of me, Priestess?"

With an elegant gesture, Khalimat pointed to Raven. "You are her new appointed guardian."

All the color drained from Favir's face. She must be joking. His duty would be to watch a _Hudar_ girl? How embarrassing, how degrading! Swallowing back his outrage, the Priest let out a slow breath, looking at Raven. She seemed about as thrilled by the idea as he did. Tension lines ran across her cheeks from her clenched jaw, and sweet Ra, those eyes... He once thought violet to be a lovely color. Seeing it now, projecting a level of animosity only heard of in stories, he quite detested the hue. "If that is how you wish me to serve, my lady, it would be an honor," he forced out the words, trying to smile.

Khalimat looked on with quiet amusement. "If you let her out of your sight for an instant, I will see to it personally that you never make that mistake again. Are we clear?"

Nervous now, Favir bobbed his head in silent agreement. Don't let her out of his sight? What sort of monster was this girl? It was then that he noticed the bands of silver around both her wrists, seeing for the first time what they were. Charmed. His dread only deepened. The _Hudar_ really was a witch, then. A restrained one. "My lady, what sort of…Prophet is she?"

Khalimat put a firm hand on Raven's shoulder, ignoring the way the woman squirmed in place, eager to be rid of the physical contact. "A frustrated one. Young, powerful, intelligent, and bored. You are to teach her the ways of the central province. I'm too long in the desert, and civil and political matters are not in my interest." Giving Raven a good shake, she waited until the young woman looked up at her. "You will behave, yes? Show me you can..." her eyes dropped to the silver bands, returning with a tempting look. "And I will give you another chance."

Raven seemed to consider those words, gaze shifting to Favir, no doubt gauging how much of a trial this was going to be. "And you will allow me my robes?"

Favir perked up at that. All that served in the temples strove for white. The utmost level of respect and power. Only those deemed worthy enough to truly convene with the gods were allowed them. But this girl? There was no way in the seven Hells that she was worthy of anything. Not even the crisp tan she was wearing now.

"We will see, child," the Priestess replied, tenderly touching Raven's cheek. "Go now, and may Sekhmet grant you strength to survive each other's company," she grinned.

Raven was Favir's absolute worst nightmare. Two years it took before Raven's silver bands were struck. It was another three before Khalimat allowed her to wear her robes. Which, to Favir's horror, were not white. They weren't even Norrian. They were _black_. Layers of tattered, fraying robes, several scarves, and an odd pair of sandals. Truly, he was the guardian of a _Hudar_ witch. It galled him to the point of sleeplessness, heartburn, trembling loathing. He hated Raven. She was a terribly cruel test of his will, and on more than one occasion he contemplated resigning. No position, no matter where in the kingdom, was worth the hell Raven put him through. They tormented, picked, poked, harassed one another to the point of madness. All the while, Raven grew all the more collected, calculating, and the most terrifying of all—civilized.

She was playing a game. But what, Favir couldn't guess. When the King requested Raven to stay at the palace for three months, he feared Khalimat would be furious. Blessedly, she wasn't, and he nearly cried with joy for the reprieve. Finally, a moment without worry! No clever woman watching his every move, critiquing his every task, embarrassing him at the market by wearing those horrid black rags. But now... now the King requested further use of the witch, and Khalimat sent him back to the Palace to keep an eye on things. Yes, Raven could stay, but not alone. Favir was to send reports back to the desert, cataloging the expanse of the Kings use of the Prophet. It certainly was a far more dignified task, and he was quite boastful of his new white robes. He wanted everyone to see, especially Raven. He wanted to rub it in her face. She would never be like him—she wasn't better than he was, and he was going to prove it.

Arriving early in the morning, Favir reported to the Kings guard. Raven, it seemed, was quartered on the eastern side of the palace, and with direction, he headed that way. He hoped to catch her sleeping still, hoped to surprise her as unpleasantly possible. _Wake up, witch, I've great news for you! Not only have you betrayed your own people, you're going to continue to do so until the Priestess drags you back to where you belong—the desert hell! _Musing to himself, he turned the corner just as the sound of a door opening broke the silence. Immediately ducking into a dark alcove, the Priest peered down the hall, jaw slowly dropping.

The Queen of Norr strode from the room, hair left down and un-styled, eyes half-lidded with something other than sleep. And then, appearing in the same doorway, was the _Hudar_ witch, drabbed in black, looking just as guilty of pleasure. Breath held, Favir froze as the Queen walked by, waiting until her footsteps faded away before peering back down the hall. Raven shut her door and walked the opposite way, pace slow and leisurely. _Oh—oh sweet Set you do exist!_ That blasphemous barbarian, that _whore! _Bedding the King's wife while he's been gone? And no guards in sight to escort her? The King was a fool to let her wander his palace unsupervised. Grinning fiercely, Favir strode after Raven. This was going to work in his favor.

With a content sigh, Raven sauntered down the halls, clutching to this calm moment for as long as possible. It was terribly hard to find any reason to smile these days, and any suggestion of bliss was soothing, however transient. Stretching her neck, a wry little smirk found its way to her lips. Her muscles were sore, a tell-tale sign that however formal and frigid the Queen may be, _Alyssa_ was wonderfully attentive in a private setting. Perhaps even a bit wild. _More than a bit_, she hid her smile. Tentatively, Raven pushed open the doors to the kitchen, glancing to see who was inside. She detested eating with the rest of the guests of the Palace, having to endure the meticulous etiquette, the tedious courses, the incessant drivel the nobles spewed. It was obvious they didn't want the _Hudar_ at the table, and Raven certainly didn't want to be there. An unspoken settlement was reached: she ate in the kitchens with the servants and staff, out of sight and mind. This morning was going to be a busy breakfast, feeding all the mouths from last night's celebration. There were countless servants scurrying about, cooking, preparing for the meal.

"Oy, what are you doing back here, eh?" one older cook squawked, waving a wooden spoon at Raven. "I told you the graces want you out at the table with them!"

"But my lady Hannah," Raven relented, expression cleverly pathetic. "I missed dinner last night, and your food smells simply divine..."

Smiling now, trying to hide a blush, the cook gestured to the griddle, to the eggs and pork that were sizzling loudly. "You little brat. Be quick about it, Prophet. And save some for the rest of the guests, eh? I've never seen such a small woman eat as much as you."

"It comes from never knowing when my next meal would be, my lady. Thank you," she smiled, swiping a plate, piling on eggs, bacon, and toasted bread. Hovering awkwardly in the kitchen, she raised an inquiring brow. "May I eat in your back garden?"

Giving the woman a firm look, the cook crossed her arms. She'd heard tales of the _Hudar_ and their fury, their barbaric ways. She'd even heard guards speak stories of Raven back in the desert. But she was hesitant to believe any of it. Raven was one of the most polite guests to ever set foot in her kitchen. It didn't matter what she was wearing—there was sincerity in her words when she spoke them. With a slow sigh, the cook uncrossed her arms. "You really don't like them, do you?"

Raven frowned, staring at her plate. "It's never pleasant to surround yourself with people that would rather see you gone."

Flashing a sad smile, Hannah patted Raven's hand. "Eat where ever you like, dearie. I won't tell anyone."

Smiling graciously, Raven slipped out the back door into the small, well planted garden. It was protected on all sides by a tall stone wall, and she eyed the dozing guard at the far gate before finding a quiet spot beneath the single oak tree in the center. The morning sun trickled down through the branches, warm where it touched her cheek, but a cold November breeze blew in the promise of winter. She hadn't seen the snow in fifteen years. If the King requested her here for much longer, maybe she'd see some again. A vulnerable, idle thought suggested it might be nice to take a walk in the snow with Alyssa, childishly toss the white fluff at her; laugh at the surly look she'd undoubtedly get. It seemed harmless enough to dream under the bright morning sun, despite the bleakness of her life. Yes, it would be nice to do anything with Alyssa, anything at all. Content for a moment, Raven ate her meal, eyes watching the sky.

**O.O.O**

Alyssa wasn't surprised to find their bed empty and undisturbed from the previous night. There were certain benefits to being the King, after all. There wasn't any bed in his palace—kingdom even, where he wasn't welcome. She didn't care. If anything, it was a relief not to see him this morning. Last night's irksome lack of grace still set her loathing for him burning like a slow fire.

Dressed and made presentable once again, the Queen went in search of Melissah. She found the young girl where she usually lingered, hovering on the outskirts of the courtyard, peering around the doorway, watching the young boys sword fighting. Reaching out, Alyssa tapped the girl on the shoulder, nearly laughing when she gave a yelp in surprise. She was such a high-strung girl, but unquestionably loyal. The Queen had a certain soft spot for her.

"Your grace, you scared me," Melissah exhaled, delicate hand to her chest. She sent a fleeting look to the boys, hoping they hadn't seen or heard her.

Amused, Alyssa stepped beside her, peering over the smaller woman's head. "Which young lad are you watching today?"

Blushing, Melissah raked her fingers through her hair, looking at the ground. "Ah, Jarek, your grace. The one in the blue."

"The brunette," she confirmed, watching the young man. "He's an attractive prospect, isn't he? Oh, and quite the athlete as well."

Still terribly shy when it came to young men, Melissah stepped back into the hall, giving a graceful curtsy to the Queen out of habit. "What may I do for you this morning?"

Taking on a serious demeanor, the Queen folded her hands in front of her, sharpening her gaze. "I've a task in mind, of the utmost importance. Can I trust you to speak of it to no one?"

Growing just as serious as her superior, Melissah nodded once. "Absolutely, your grace."

Glancing down the halls, she pulled the girl aside, voice quiet. Alyssa placed a small coin purse in her hand. "Go to the Great Market. Find Santiago Sucocci, the fence. Give him this, and he will give you something in return. Bring it to me and no one else. Understood?"

Gripping the purse tightly, Melissah nodded again. "Yes, I understand. When do you want me to go, your grace?"

"You've eaten already, yes? Go now. Discreetly. Take my horse. I've already informed the guards you will be running an errand for me. They won't bother you." Alyssa lightly touched the girl's cheek, flashing a faint smile. "I will owe you a favor for this."

Melissah grinned, tucking the purse away in her robes. "Your grace, that's a dangerous thing. I've expensive tastes."

Alyssa laughed, shooing her away. "Off with you, now." She watched the girl scamper down the hall, an odd feeling settling in her stomach. Normally she would never send someone into the market to retrieve something from Sucocci, least of all Melissah. But with Olisgard swarming with citizens from all corners of Norr, it would be too trying a task to slip out into the masses unnoticed. No matter what disguise she wore, her eyes always gave her away. Alyssa frowned, glancing out the doorway to the boys playing in the courtyard. Melissah wasn't the only woman she was worried about.

"_There_ you are," King Kenos murmured, arms slipping around her waist from behind, pulling her back against him. Dominick kissed her cheek, smiling. "Good morning, my Queen."

Refraining from twitching, Alyssa turned in his arms, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. The smile she flashed was bland at best, and she cursed her own slip in composure. "My King."

Smile faltering, he took a step back, searching her expression. "What's wrong?"

"I…just had a bad dream last night." Quickly clearing her thoughts, she offered him her arm, relieved when he took it. They headed to the dining room.

"Alyssa, about last night at the fete..." Kenos frowned at his own guilt. He was no blinded fool. Alyssa Norxis did not love him. Their marriage was purely political in nature, and while they hadn't shared a bed in years, they were always civil to one another. They had six years of a successful union. Lately however, Alyssa had been drifting away, to the point where the toleration was strained. Kenos assumed the issue was arising from his campaign into the _Hudar_. Namely, his constant brooding, pacing, non-stop agitation. But now that the siege was over, and Norr victorious, he wasn't completely sure what was irritating his wife. Her outburst surrounding his rather insensitive conversation with the Prophet may have just been a convenient outlet or an actual issue. "I drank a bit too much."

"You were entitled to your celebration, Dominick," Alyssa said evenly, not comfortable talking about this subject so soon. "It's not like you're a drunkard."

"I'm still the King. I could have handled that better," he argued, twisting his lips. He made a vague gesture. "Concerning the _Hudar_ Prophet. It was classless to mock her people right in front of her."

Brows high, Alyssa glanced at her husband. She was instantly mistrustful of this declaration. He was after something, something from _her_. "It was a bit uncouth and embarrassing. Norr is not a land of uncivilized bastards. We're better than that."

Quirking a grin, Kenos rubbed the back of his neck, slowing to a stop near the great hall. "Yes, yes. You're right, as usual. What would I ever do without you at my side?"

"I suspect you'd look like an unkempt brute without any class," she smiled sweetly, fixing the collar of his shirt. "You killed the barbarian King with," she hesitated briefly, "cleverness and tact. There's no reason to gloat."

Rolling his eyes, the King waited until Alyssa was finished straightening his shirt. There were still frown lines etched in her face, making her beauty seem unnaturally severe. In a land where both King and Queen held equal power, it wasn't practical to seek out annoying her unnecessarily. She may be frigid and abrasive when it came to anything more than civil conversation, but she generally gave him little genuine grief. Alyssa was the only person in his kingdom that he didn't fear would stab him in the back to get ahead. Also, he may have been a little bit in love with her. Sighing comically, he put a hand to his heart. "Will you ever forgive me?"

"You know I never forgive you," she replied lightly, without hesitancy.

"Which is why I just went ahead and got you a gift," Dominick commented. "A white stallion, seventeen hands. He's a Northern bred stud, very handsome. You'll love him."

A moment of surprise made her heart jump. He knew she loved horses. It was clever of him, though not enough to relent her silent disdain. Returning a wry smile, the Queen slapped him on the arm. "You cannot buy me things every time you do something stupid!"

"Of course I can. It may not help, but it does make you smile. I can't have the ruler of Norr unhappy," he mused, holding the door to the great hall open wide. "After you, my Queen."

Playful smirk faltering, Alyssa gazed through the open doorway, to her spot at the table. She _was_ unhappy. Maybe she didn't have the right to feel such things. Born into a high class family that had both status and wealth, she was betrothed to one in the same, of royal blood. When Dominick's father passed and he became king, they married. For six years now, she was the Queen of a profitable, peaceful, well run nation. The public adored her and Dominick, and even in spite of that, everything was at her disposal. _Not everything_, she thought sourly. She had absolutely no desire to sit there at that table faking earnestness, knowing Raven was eating alone elsewhere. Alone in her grief and self-loathing, enveloped in churning hate.

Alyssa looked away. "I don't have much of an appetite, Dominick. I'm going to take a walk, I think."

Frowning, he nodded faintly. "Are you not well? I will call the physician for you."

"No, no," she touched his hand. "I'm well. Don't worry, my King. I just need some fresh air."

Brow furrowed, the King watched his wife walk away. Something was awry with her, and he hadn't brought up the topic of children in months. That was the usual cause for her irritability, namely their lack of pleasant intimacy, his desire to secure an heir, her desire or lack thereof a complete and glacial mystery. With the roll of excitement that securing a route to the base of _The Spire_ brought, he had a strong parental urge to share it with a son. To school him in military principles, teach him politics, show him how great a world man could make. Obviously Alyssa had something else on her mind, and he knew better than to pester her about it now. In time, she would confide in him. She always did. Turning, he strolled into the great hall, eager for some breakfast, hoping it would cure the ache behind his eyes from last night's celebration.

**O.O.O**

Favir pushed open the swinging doors of the kitchen, gaze sweeping the room for any signs of Raven. A bustle of activity swam in the large kitchen, distracting and too congested. One servant lad skidded to a stop before him, peering over an armful of potatoes. "Sir, the guests will be served in the great hall."

"Never mind that." Waving, Favir beckoned the boy closer. "I'm the Priest of Sekhmet's temple. Have you seen the King's Prophet? I have business with her."

The boy seemed to perk up at that. "You mean the lady Raven?"

_Lady Raven? When did she earn that title?_ "Yes, I mean the _lady_ Raven," he said mockingly. "Where might I find her?"

Oblivious to the clear contempt in the Priest's voice, the young lad obliged. "She always eats her meals in the gardens," he jerked his head towards a thick set of wooden exterior doors. "Through there."

Shoving past the boy, Favir strode towards the doors without a word, shuffling through the flow of kitchen staff that was now sending him ugly looks. "Priest, you're not supposed to be back here!" Hannah yelled, rattling a pot across the room. "Get out of my kitchen!"

Did none of these people have an iota of respect for a Head Priest in Norr? The absolute nerve of these knaves! Ignoring the cook, Favir shoved open the doors, blinking in the abrupt brightness of the gardens. Across the space, Raven looked down from the sky, expression immediately going blank. A nasty smile spread across his lips. Straightening his robes, Favir strolled across the grounds. _Look at her eating in the dirt._ Not even peasants did that. They at least had the decency to sit at a table, even if they didn't wash their hands.

Mood officially soured now, Raven took stock of the Priest, eyeing his new robes, the increased sense of self-worth oozing from him. She finished chewing, quirking one brow. "My, my. You look a bit ridiculous in white, don't you think? Tell me, are your knees sore from kneeling between someone's legs?"

"You're in no position to mock me," Favir rocked to a halt before her, hands clasped behind his back, practiced smile firmly in place. "I heard you gave over Daskis to the King. Well done. Such a good little traitor you've made."

Raven's expression grew hostile. "What do you want?"

"I'm here on Khalimat's bidding. It seems you're not as... supervised as she thinks necessary." Favir's smile went unkind.

Raven's gaze shifted to the sole guard in audience, still leaning against the wall, arms crossed, head canted forward in sleep. He wasn't there to watch her. His presence was pure coincidence and just as annoying. The King's guard truly was everywhere, even if they were occasionally asleep on the job. "You'll have to take it up with the King. He lets me wander where I may within the walls," she said blithely, taking another bite of toast.

"Oh, don't you fret, _Hudar_. I will be sure to let him know exactly what's going on in his residence," he murmured, peering down his nose at her. "Right behind his back."

Raven paused, dark gaze shifting to study the Priest. A sinking feeling made the food bland and tasteless now, setting the hair to prick at the back of her neck. There was something off in his pale blue eyes, a confident tenacity that set her skin crawling. Getting to her feet, she strode past him, jerking to a stop when his hand caught her wrist, squeezing painfully tight.

"You're a filthy, _wretched_ _witch_. You have _no_ rights here, and _no_ place warming anyone's bed. I'll see you back in silver for this myself," he threatened, voice soft and sanctimonious. "And when Kenos bores of your skills, Khalimat will be waiting for you."

There was a moment, three heartbeats long, where Raven did nothing but stare. Countless thoughts flashed through her mind, guessing the depths of his knowledge, the extent of what he saw. Because he _had_ seen something; enough to ruin everything, and there was nothing more precious to her than protecting what little joy she had. He would hold this over here; use this knowledge to make her submit to his will. There was no way in seven hells that she was going back to the desert, least of all while this Priest blackmailed her into obedience. There was only one option left, however daunting, however tempting and brash. Favir left her no choice.

Raven's free hand shot out, fingers coated with a black glow, crushing the Priest's throat in her grip. She immediately brought her foot up, nailing him in the chest with a forceful kick. Flailing backwards and unable to breathe, Favir tumbled across the ground, white robes stained with grass and dirt. The guard jerked awake at the commotion, gawking at the scene. "Prophet, I command you to yield!" he shouted at her. The sound of metal ringing free from a sheath set everything in motion.

Turning towards the guard, Raven spread her arms wide, head lowered, dark gaze locked on the rapidly approaching threat. Her mind cleared, snapping to a dreadfully quiet place devoid of emotion. Time slowed down as she counted down his steps, timing the strike with seamless perfection. With a whispered invocation, she brought her left hand forward, slicing the air. The motion tore a sound from nowhere, a high-frequency pulse that struck the guard three paces away. Without a gasp, without a drop of gore, the guard crumpled dead at her feet.

The cool breeze rustling the leaves in the tree turned into a low howl, eerie and old, like the rattle of bones. Dropping to her knees, the _Hudar_ jerked off the guard's belt, securing it around her own waist, taking his sword and dagger. Favir let out a strangled screech in the background as he finally caught his breath, like the low, pathetic bleating of an injured animal. Raven got to her feet.

"No..._no!_" he cried breathlessly, too soft for anyone to hear, especially over that haunting wind. Fear clutched at him, heart racing a dangerous pace. Raven slowly approached him, black hair and robes twisting in the wind, sword clutched in her hand. There was a terrifying smile on her lips. As he lay helpless in the dirt, numb with complete horror, he understood why the _Hudar_ were called wraiths.

"Shh… I want you to know something, Favir," Raven cooed, hovering over him, a shadow on a gorgeous autumn morning. The tip of the guard's short sword pressing into his throat, the speechless Priest could only tremble. "Khalimat set you to be my guardian as a test of my patience and nothing more. Not as a means to prove your worth, not a trial of your will—but mine. You want to know how well I did?" she whispered, violet eyes vast, locked on him with unnerving focus. "I've waited seven years for this moment, however bitter sweet it really is. You made a terrible mistake coming back here, Favir, but I owe you thanks." Those dark eyes narrowed to slits. "I just earned my freedom." With a fierce jab, the sword pierced his chest, ran through to the ground. Hands grasping at Raven, mouth open and soundless, Favir died a slow, agonizing death, watching the _Hudar_ witch smile.

The chilly wind died down as everything settled to stillness. Exhaling a slow breath, Raven wiped the sword clean on the Priest's crisp robes, eyes scanning the gardens, watching the doors. Instincts long suppressed took over, prioritizing, planning. She checked his pockets, taking a small purse of coins, pausing when her fingers brushed a piece of paper. A letter from the Priestess to the King, seal unbroken. Popping the wax, she scanned the note, feeling herself pale.

—_The gods have spoken clearly, good King. The Prophet will seek to follow the dark path, stopping at nothing until its end. Pay heed to her words, but see to it that she's never left alone. She will betray you. Brother Favir has the authority and means to rein her in should she step out of line—_

The note crumpled in her fist, turning to dust. Raven jerked to her feet at the sound of the kitchen door opening. A young female servant took two steps into the gardens and froze, empty basket in her arms, eyes wide. Before the Hudar could speak a word in placation, the girl let out a teeth-gnashing scream, echoing off the high walls of the gardens, and immediately darted back into the busy kitchen. Jaw clenched, Raven swiftly moved to the other door, shouldering it open, sprinting down the far hall unseen. With the layout of the palace running through her mind, she deftly navigated the passageways. News would spread quickly of her crimes. She needed to be outside the walls when word reached the King.

**O.O.O**

Dressed in a warm coat, Alyssa slowly circled the outdoor grounds in a distracted gloom. Guilt lay heavy on her shoulders. How long could she keep Raven here with her? Was it cruel to allow her this intimacy only to have it taken away at someone else's whim? Was she unkind for starting this whole secret affair in the first place? At the thought of their first night together, a warm smile tugged at the corners of her lips. The Prophet did show her face at dinner the first night, and remained a quiet delicious temptation at the far end of the table. After dinner, Alyssa invited the stoic _Hudar_ to one of her private rooms with the promise of fine wine and engaging conversation. Raven had politely refused, claiming it wasn't her place to be alone with the Queen of Norr. Politely refused, that is, until Alyssa walked up to the woman and kissed her. Raven didn't raise another word of protest. She responded with natural, addicting eagerness, a desperate touch, both tender and pleasurably rough. Such passion that woman had! Alyssa couldn't remember ever feeling so wonderful—so right with another soul. She didn't ever want it to stop. She wanted to stay with Raven forever. How foolish of her to fall in love with a _Hudar_ woman that wasn't free to choose her own life, when she herself was chained to the throne, to Dominick Kenos.

Blinking up from her thoughtful nostalgia, Alyssa found herself outside the stables. The sweet smell of hay and feed hung in the air, pleasant and clean. The stables were stone, well built and maintained, housing well over fifty horses. Most of them belonged to visiting nobles and peerage, and the horses of the guard were kept in the adjacent connecting stable. Glancing around at the peaceful quiet, she found it odd to not have immediately been greeted by the stable hand and his apprentices, two young lads from Olisgard. Thinking they must be elsewhere tending to the pastures, the Queen contently walked past the stalls, petting and cooing over each and every horse. One stall was empty, the one her favorite horse stayed in. Melissah had indeed left immediately for her task. Continuing down the row of stalls, she paused as an unfamiliar white horse stuck his head over the door.

"My stars, look at you—you're massive!" she exclaimed, looking over his strong legs, graceful back and powerful haunches. His mane was silver in places, smooth as silk in her fingers. This was her new horse, and he was absolutely gorgeous. Smile growing wry, Alyssa sighed, leaning on the door as the stallion sniffed at her inquisitively. Dominick was infuriating at times with his impeccable taste in all things refined. He truly was after something, though what she couldn't rightly say. Her heart, her progeny, her forgiveness; who knew? She was too wary to ask. "You're a handsome bloke, I'll admit," she murmured, scratching beneath the stallion's forelock. "What shall we call you, hmm?"

The hurried clatter of hooves on stone broke the calm, sounding out through the closed doors of the soldier's stables. The jingle of metal and leather came next, and a horse let out an anxious call, dancing in place. Quietly, Alyssa pushed open the large door, peering into the second stables. A bay gelding stood tied in the walkway, saddle in place, wide eyes shifting. There was someone rummaging in the tack room. Curiously, the Queen crept into the stables, placing a calming hand on the bay's muzzle, gazing at the dark robes of the person backing out of the room with an armful of supplies. She recognized the tattered black robes, the ebony hair, the shape of the woman's jawbone. Smiling now, Alyssa crossed her arms. "_Naughty, naughty_," she mused playfully.

Startled, Raven whirled around with a hiss, sword tip sailing towards the Queen's throat. Alyssa froze, heart stalling at the look of utter ruthlessness in those violet eyes. Something profound and nebulous transpired in that heartbeat, the two women acknowledging one another, Raven stopping the blade from piercing flesh at the last possible moment. Quickly jerking back, the Hudar let out a terrible sound, sword clattering to the stone. "Your grace," she said, voice faint and pained, hands wide in compliance. "You startled me."

Alyssa blinked slowly, taking in the near-death experience, the blood staining Raven's hands, the guard's sword, the horse, the pack of supplies spilled at her feet. Her sharp mind quickly filled in the blanks. "Who was it?" she asked weakly, trying to slow her racing heart.

"Favir," Raven said quickly, frowning. "He knew about us. There was a guard as well."

Going pale, Alyssa took a shaky step back, one hand on the horse's side, supporting herself. If one person knew, the possibilities of others knowing existed. A world of fear sunk like a stone in her gut. Raven had killed the Sekhmet Priest, and now she was fleeing Norr. "And the stable hands, you..." Alyssa said quietly, the unspoken ringing in the silence.

"No—" Raven shook her head, staring at the blood on her hands as if seeing it for the first time. "They're locked in the feed room. Alyssa, I have to go." Sheathing the sword and gathering up the supplies, she shoved them in the leather bag, quickly securing it to the back of the saddle. "I can't stay here. We can't keep doing this."

Everything came crashing down in the following quiet, a massacre of glass and steel ringing in her head, a terrible concussion of despair. It was happening right before her eyes. She was the sovereign ruler of Norr, and she could do nothing to stop it. It was the first occurrence of helplessness to ever strike her, and it was a horrendously awful feeling. "I'm coming with you." The words were spoken aloud, but it took Alyssa a moment to realize that they came from her.

Raven jerked to stillness, staring at Alyssa. She let out a short, dry laugh. "No you're not." Raven touched her cheek. "Alyssa please. Go. I will be fine. They can't know about us, especially now. I killed a royal guard and a Sekhmet Priest. All of Norr will come looking to kill me, especially _your King_." The _Hudar_ grabbed her mount's reins, swiftly leading him towards the door.

"I'll stop them, there has to be a way. Just let me think. Damn it to Hades, just—wait!" Alyssa shouted, fiercely gripping her hand.

"I _can't_," Raven snapped, pulling away, robes spiraling around her. "And you can't fix this. I can't sit here another moment in utter misery like some_ pet_. I've made my choice, and I won't let you ruin your life for me."

"I don't care what the bloody peerage thinks of me—"

"I do," Raven gently cut her off, taking the taller woman's face in her hands, looking her over with a hungry emotion, as if cataloging her face, remembering it. "I care about you, Alyssa. You've been incredibly kind to me. Let me show you a kindness now." Raven kissed her softly, tenderly, lovingly and let go. "Forget about me, your grace," she whispered, tone just above a waiver.

"You call that a kindness?" Alyssa blurted, heart thundering madly in her chest, fingers touching her own lips as if they burned with liquid fire. "You're terribly _cruel!_"

"That too," Raven amended, pale face shadowed with things she'd rather not belay. "This was all just a dream you're better off without. I will only bring you heartache. Forget about me, Alyssa, _please_."

"I'd sooner grow wings and fly," Alyssa strained, passion making the words painful. Hot tears pricked her eyes, but she wouldn't let them fall.

Raven turned away, unable to bear the look in those clear, beautiful, vulnerable eyes. Hooves sounded on stone again, a quick staccato pace as the _Hudar_ hurried to the end of the stables.

_No. No, not like this_, Alyssa thought, standing in a wash of uncertainty that left her nauseous and dizzy with despair. Farther and farther Raven walked away, the distance between them growing like a vast void, taking with it the sweet words and endearing touch that reminded Alyssa, unequivocally, that she was in love for the first time in her life. In love with a barbarian, a witch, a murderer; a victim, a stoic, a survivor. In love with a woman that was three paces from walking out of her life. _Forever_. An unexpected surge of decision hardened her resolve, made her trembling limbs tighten, fists clench. With all the air and authority of her rank, Alyssa took one step forward, quiet voice carrying down the stalls. "_Stop!_"

Raven ground to a halt, feet as heavy and unmoving as boulders beneath a waterfall. A compulsion, some strange feeling overtook her, unexplainable and commanding. Even the horse remained motionless, dark eyes uneasy. What was this? She couldn't move another step forward, as if she suddenly lacked the will and capacity for locomotion. As if overcome by a spell. As if _bewitched_. Blinking in gradual recognition, she turned, mystified, looking over her shoulder and down the stables at the Queen of Norr. Alyssa herself looked shocked, then embarrassed, but it was very brief. The strange spell passed, and Raven turned completely around, the full length of the hall between them. Alyssa had invoked a magic, a type the civilized bloodlines of Norr didn't possess. "What did you just do?" Raven asked, wary and surprised.

_I don't rightly know_, Alyssa thought. It had never happened before to her knowledge. Passing strange. Clutching to her shrewd facade, she strode to Raven, taking the reins from her hand. "Go ready a horse for me. The one in stall thirty-two. I'll find you something to wear."

Raven let out another anguished laugh. "Alyssa, you can't ride out of here with me. Everyone will see—_you're the Queen!_"

"Yes, I am," she snapped, giving the shorter woman a shove in the right direction. "No one will question my leave of the city. Dressed as you are, you won't make it past the gates, let alone out of Norr. There are guards everywhere. Did you plan to kill them all?" Alyssa mocked. Raven scowled. "You're outnumbered, my love. A fast rush of the gates is a foolish waste of a beautiful, clever woman that is much better suited to freedom than being a martyr." She brushed her fingertips along Raven's jaw, watching the thoughts flicker behind those lovely violet eyes. "Don't argue with _your grace_, charming dark traveler. We haven't the time."

Snarling curses under her breath, Raven sprinted towards the main stables. _That woman is exasperating! She'll get us both killed for this. _Cautiously checking for guards, she slipped inside the main hall, rummaging through several tack rooms. Locating the Queen's saddle, a bridle, and a travel bag, Raven then went to the stall numbered thirty-two, blinking in surprise. It was a white stallion, pure and handsome, well suited for the northern province, but would be equally durable in _Hudar_. She hadn't seen a horse so tall since she was home in the wilds. The horses of the gentle desert, her personal hell, were thin and hot-blooded, never much taller than fifteen-hands. This creature was seventeen at least, and looked strong enough to crush a mountain beneath his hooves. _The perks of being royalty_, she thought wryly. Slipping quietly into the stall, Raven skillfully saddled and readied the horse, having to adjust the leather to accommodate his exceptionally large head. Curious, the beast sniffed at her, nibbling playfully at one of her scarves. "Stop that," she swatted at him. Peering into the hall, Raven led the towering horse back towards the soldier's stables.

"There you are, hurry up," Alyssa hissed, taking the stallion's reins, shoving a bundle of clothing into Raven's arms. "Take off your _Hudar_ garb, put this on. I'll do something with your hair." Raven glanced around the exposure of the hall, hesitating. "Now is not the time for modesty. Off with it, we've got only a few minutes before the guards will swing by on their rounds." Alyssa huffed at Raven's awkwardness, quickly untwining the scarves from the woman's neck, storing them in the bag on the gelding's saddle.

Holding up the brown and tan servant rags, Raven scowled some more. "This is never going to work," she muttered under her breath, tugging at her robes, shivering naked in the chill as Alyssa wrenched the fabric from her hands before she could get it completely off. Her precious _Hudar_ robes were stuffed into the saddle bags, along with the stolen sword and dagger. On top of the incriminating evidence, Alyssa layered a rolled up blanket, a bag of feed, and a skin of water. A normal pack for a day's leisure ride in the countryside. For a Queen, the woman was suspiciously skilled at deception, Raven thought, dressing. The servant's robe was a bit too large, but the excess covered her recognizable sandals. Before she could complain, Alyssa was already raking her fingers through her wild black hair, working it into a loose, simple braid.

"Your name is Sara. You are a stable hand from the commons. You and I are going on a nice ride to try out my new horse. Look at no one, just ride by my side and we'll be out the gates in no time," Alyssa instructed, voice calm and even. Inside she was an utter mess. This was bold, especially since the time clock had begun ticking against them the moment Raven fled. How many minutes ago was that? Seven likely, ten at the most. The palace was large, and the stables near the gate. She hadn't heard the shouts from guards or the sound of the alarm. Perhaps no one had discovered the bodies yet. Or, she thought realistically, the alarm was forgone to prevent panic, and the guard just hadn't checked the stables yet. Did Dominick know already? What if this didn't work? They didn't have time to worry about it. Finishing the braid, Alyssa clambered up onto her horse, adjusting the reins as the beast danced beneath her. "And for the love of the gods, wash that blood off your hands, Raven."

"If you really intend to follow me into the wilds, you better get used to it," she snapped.

"We won't make it into the wilds if you walk around smeared with evidence of your vengeance either," Alyssa said dryly.

"As you wish, great Queen." Smiling ruefully, Raven dipped her hands in the nearest water bucket, rinsing the vermillion stains away. This plan was insanity in the making, and it would only be by the grace of some gods that the two of them made it past the gates of Olisgard, let alone into the badlands. There was much more blood to come, that she was certain. Mounting the bay gelding, Raven settled her posture, appearing meek and subservient. "After you, _your grace_."

Expression firm, Alyssa heeled her horse, leading them out into the bright mid-morning sunlight.


	3. Chapter 3

**_One That Walks the Veil_**

_Chapter Three_

* * *

Hannah let out a tired sigh as yet another ridiculous breakfast order came back to the kitchen. The nobles didn't know the meaning of overstaying their welcome, she thought sourly. _Eat, drink, drivel, drink, drink, drivel, eat, sleep—that's all they do! _Shuffling to the back pantry, the elderly woman gathered up another bag of oats, noting that her supply was running bare. Hopefully the King wouldn't request anything she'd run out of. Hannah turned back towards the kitchen just as the back door flung open. The young servant girl she'd sent out to fetch more herbs darted inside, running right into Hannah.

"What in the name of Zeus is wrong with you, girl?" she barked, struggling with keeping the heavy bag of oats in her grip.

The girl blinked up at her, pale and terrified. "_Dead_," she squeaked, hands clasped to her mouth.

"What?" Hannah asked, leaning closer. "Speak up; I'm deaf in one ear."

"Th-the… Priest," she said at length, trembling. "He's _dead!_"

"Dead?" the cook repeated quietly, eyes shifting to the still open door. Dropping the oats, Hannah grabbed the girl by the hand, tugging her outside. Her steps faltered at the sight of Favir's motionless body, white robes stained vermillion, pale blue eyes staring vacant and skyward. Several feet away, a royal guard lay face down in the dirt, an odd heap of armor and cloth. There was only one other person in the gardens this morning. Immediately her thoughts jumped to the quiet and overwhelming knowledge that she knew exactly who had slain these men. The girl began to whimper, trying to pull out of Hannah's grip. "Shh!" she snapped, scanning the garden, finding no sight of Raven. She must have fled. Any rational person would. "Shut up, you hear me? Did you tell anyone else you saw this?"

Hand still plastered over her mouth, the girl jerked her head side to side in answer.

Hannah pursed her lips, studying Favir's lifeless face. She didn't feel the slightest bit sorry for the man, the conceited bigot that he was. As far as she was concerned, he deserved it. The guard however, was a different matter. That would be difficult a crime to escape. Old brown eyes locked on the far door of the garden, Hannah said a quick prayer to the gods. _Run fast, Hudar. Run fast._ Turning back into the kitchen, Hannah tugged the petrified girl with her. "Come along, dearie. I'm sure we can find some herbs elsewhere," she said lightly, bolting the garden door behind them, sealing off the silent, grisly scene.

**O.O.O**

At the Great Market, Melissah handed off the reins of her mount to a stable hand. The young man blinked at the emblem on the leather saddle, glancing at her with brows raised. "Is this the—"

"The Queen's horse. Yes, it is. And you would do well to treat him kindly during his short stay with you," Melissa smiled sweetly, placing a gold coin in the man's hand. "I won't be long."

Grinning, he pocketed the coin, giving the black gelding's neck a scratch. "The Queen's steed will be quite comfortable with me, I assure you. Enjoy your shopping, my lady."

Adjusting her riding coat, Melissah strode into the busy market. Her task seemed simple and straightforward, but she conducted herself with grave seriousness, not being one to go against the Queen's directions. The young woman idolized Alyssa Norxis with the childish innocence of one whose mother had died young, and father never came home. There wasn't much future for her, and left to wandering the streets at twelve, Melissah did whatever was necessary to survive. She became adept at pick-pocketing the wallets of wealthy nobles, and, among other things, acquiring all manner of goods. Her thin stature and unimposing demeanor meant she blended in with the background. Melissah made a wonderful thief. But even a thief, blinded by hunger, can make mistakes.

The Queen, on one of her routine rides through Olisgard, spotted the young Melissa swiping a loaf of bread from a stall at the market. It was so casually and skillfully done that no one else noticed, not even the guard standing a few feet away from the crime. While she should have been appalled, the Queen discovered that she was, in fact, quite impressed with the feat. After following the girl, Alyssa confronted the thief with a curious, amused smile. Rightly terrified, Melissah spewed her life's misfortunes, groveling in complete hysterics at the feet of the Queen feet. She was surely moments away from death or a dungeon, and Melissah wasn't sure which was worse.

Instead of alarming the guard, the Queen delivered her own stern judgment of the situation. Melissah's punishment was a roof over her head, food on the table, and a proper upbringing in the palace, so long as she swore loyalty to Alyssa Norxis. Of course, only a fool would turn down that offer, however lacking in a choice there was. But only a clever, street-smart vagabond would notice that pledge was to the _woman_, not the Queen of Norr. Melissah had spent four peaceful, engaging years happily obliging.

As such, the market was somewhere she was very familiar with.

**O.O.O**

Dominick Kenos liked to think himself a patient man. However, after enduring an hour-long breakfast listening to the peerage of Norr bicker and banter over every trivial thing that crossed their minds, the King was ready to go. _Anything is more enjoyable than this_, he thought. As yet another Northern Duke brought up the mundane troubles of his servant's lack of finesse, Dominick's sky blue eyes drifted to the empty chair beside him. He did hope Alyssa was alright.

The door to the great hall flew open, slamming against the wall, and two royal guards hurried towards the head of the table. "Your grace, there's been an incident," Captain Roberts said tightly, eyeing the watchful, nosey peerage.

Getting to his feet, Dominick followed the guards to the hall, keeping his voice hushed. "What sort of incident?"

"The Priest from Sekhmet's Temple arrived this morning to convene with the Prophet." The Captain's brow furrowed. "He was just found in the kitchen gardens, your grace. Sword wound to his chest. Dead three-quarters of an hour mayhap, no more. There was also a guard there with him, slain. His sword and dagger are missing."

Dominick blinked once. Twice.

"My guard had no visible wounds on him anywhere. And his eyes—" Roberts hesitated, armor creaking as he shifted. "Sir, his eyes have gone pure white, like a fiend. He's been _cursed_."

That word was spoken like an anathema, an implicit atrocity in this land. There was only one plausible cause. "Where is the Prophet?" Kenos said quickly, mind racing now.

"Unaccounted for, your grace," the royal guard murmured, hand clenching the grip of his sword at his waist. "The head cook said she hadn't seen either the Priest or the Prophet this morning. The kitchens were busy and loud. No one heard or saw anything."

"My men are scouring the grounds as we speak. I've sent carrier birds to all the outposts, the Citadel and Northgate. The Prophet isn't getting out the gates of Olisgard without being seen," the Captain assured the King.

Dominick ground his teeth in rage. He should have known—what a fool he had been! She was a _Hudar_ witch, and he let her waltz among the good citizens of his kingdom like any other. She was so polite and reserved, obedient, unobtrusive… and it was all a ruse. He used her like a pawn, and in turn, she had used him. There was no doubt in his mind that Raven killed Favir. There was clear loathing palpable between her and the guardian of seven years, even with her stoic nature. There was no guess as to what else she might have done in the palace in the past hour. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned—and she was no mere woman. There was no way he would be able to continue his expedition to _The Spire_ with the Prophet loose in the wilds. With all that she'd learned here, and the skills she'd acquired from the Priestess, it would ruin him. Raven had the potential to be a far greater advisary than the mighty Daskis, and Dominick had _slighted_ her. _Mocked_ her. _Underestimated_ her.

Anxiety crept up his throat, tasting of bile. "Send word to the Priestess Khalimat in Kebos. Ask her if she knows anywhere the witch might go."

"Sir, presumably she's headed west," the guard commented.

"All the roads from here leading to _Hudar_ are well guarded. She won't make it to the wastelands. She's going to head either north or south first and cross over," Kenos snapped, rubbing the stubble on his chin. No, she wouldn't head south. Khalimat was there, as well as the Citadel. Too many obstacles. "North. Send a team north, towards the mountains. We might intercept her if we can get ahead."

"Of course, sir. I've already sent word to the Riders. They're familiar with the passes since the excursion into _Hudar_," Captain Roberts replied.

Rapid footsteps sounded, and another guard sprinted towards them wide-eyed. "Your grace! My lord Captain!" he panted, trying to catch his breath as he skidded to a halt. "The stables. The hand and his pages were locked in the feed room. Three horses are gone!"

Dominick's heart gave a shuddering beat. Raven was making devilishly good time. "Which horses?"

The young guard wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, adjusting his belt. "The Queen's black gelding, and the new white stallion. Also, a bay gelding from the soldier's stables."

The Captain nodded, expression stony. "Your grace, the Queen informed me early this morning that her maidservant would be taking her horse to the market on an errand. But the stallion and the soldier's horse? Would the witch take two?"

_The stallion_. Dominick Kenos went deathly pale. "Where is Alyssa?" Gaze moving between the three men, his strained calm began to crack. "Where is she? When was the last time anyone saw her? She went for a walk an hour ago, did none of your guards see? _Where is she?_"

With a curt gesture from the Captain, the two guards sprinted away. "Your grace, did the Queen go to the stables, you think? The new stallion is a fine steed. Surely she just took him for a ride."

"Possibly. She wanders when she's upset." Dominick ran both hands through his hair, gazing at the high ceiling of the hall. Would the Prophet seek out the Queen as a means to get back at him? Would Alyssa be able to recognize the maliciousness of the witch before it was too late? _She's distracted_, he thought. _She had a bad dream. Needed some fresh air_. _There was something on her mind_. The King had the sudden overwhelming fear that he might never find out what that something was.

Expression shifting to cautious, Roberts lowered his voice. He said the very same thought the King was choking on. "Do you think the witch would abduct the Queen?"

Unadulterated panic surged through him, violently acrid. It was possible—anything was possible. Hands fisted in the Captain's uniform, Dominick jerked the man close. "Find my wife. Bring the witch to me—alive. Am I clear?" he growled, teeth clenched, eyes blazing. "_Bring her to me!_" the King roared.

**O.O.O**

Playing with the coin purse in her pocket, Melissah wove her way through the crowd, headed for the less amiable section at the eastern side of the market. Santiago Sucocci was a familiar name from her younger, less dignified days. There were many times that she'd bartered stolen goods with him for gold and silver coins. She'd even completed a few tasks for him in the past in exchange for clothing, food, and information. His obscure, stone shop looked just as she remembered. An ominous mystery as the end of the road, with stained glass windows and macabre décor. A heavy man leaned against the wall near the front door, picking beneath his filthy nails with a hunting knife. His ruddy expression shifted to surprise as the young woman strutted towards him, dressed splendidly and complete out of place. She ignored his hungry gaze, and without preamble, Melissah let herself in the front door. The old wood rattled a dull bell above the threshold, and as the door slammed shut, a figure emerged from a doorway across the large room.

As always, Santiago was dressed from head to toe in an elaborately crafted outfit. Ebony and auburn, a contrasting pattern, distinctly eastern in design. The close-fitting attire showed off broad shoulders, a trim waist, and accentuated his considerable height. To this day, she had never seen his face. No one had. A sleek, utilitarian mask hid the man's true identity. Only his left eye was visible, black as sin; mischievous and menacing, slanted and omniscient, accented by a smear of orange on the mask. It suited him somehow, this theatrical garb. His voice was low, melodious, and smooth as cream.

"Here is a face I haven't seen in ages," Santiago mused, hands clasped behind his back. With a few long strides he was before Melissah, towering over her. "How you've grown, little thief. You look like a noble's daughter on her way to court. Very becoming."

A light blush dusted her cheeks. "It has been a while," she admitted, somewhat guilty. She hadn't visited this end of the market in years. "The Queen made me an offer I couldn't refuse."

"I'd heard." She couldn't see it, but his voice suggested that he was smiling. "Alyssa Norxis isn't someone you should aim to disappoint."

"And I don't," she replied earnestly. "I'm sure you're aware that I'm here on her behalf right now."

"I am aware." Santiago turned on his toes in a flourish, arms outstretched, motions fluid. He moved behind the counter, retrieving a small brown package wrapped in twine. "It was a peculiar request, I must admit. Especially with what one hears these days."

Curiousness blossomed in the young woman. Santiago saw and heard everything in Olisgard, possibly Norr. Was the Queen up to something? "What do you mean?" she inquired lightly.

"I mean exactly what I say. This package contains something completely unremarkable, disappointing even. But when coupled with certain knowledge, it's most… _interesting_."

Melissah rolled her eyes, leaning casually against the counter. Santiago was prone to speaking in riddles, sounding wonderfully mysterious with his rumbling, dulcet tone. It may have come across as harmless, but Melissah was no fool. This man was dangerous; he just happened to like her enough to never be much of an immediate threat. "Do you ever really say what you mean, Santiago?"

With a chuckle, the fence extended his hand, palm upright. "That is an expensive question, my dear."

Placing the Queen's coin purse in Santiago's hand, Melissah tugged the package closer. It was soft somewhat, firmer in other places. Clothing, perhaps? Or was it leather? She didn't dare open it. "I sincerely doubt you would answer even if I had the coin to bribe you with."

"You always were a clever one." Santiago made the coin purse vanish with a wave of his fingers. "Tell me, have there been any new arrivals at the palace lately?"

"You know as well as I that all the peerage in the kingdom is in Olisgard. They attended the celebration for the so-called victory in _Hudar_."

"Ah. I sense some discontentment from the Queen's favorite attendant." The man leaned on his elbows, mimicking Melissah's posture. "Something amiss with Kenos' ambitious expedition into uncharted lands?"

"It doesn't really matter what I think, now does it?" she said blithely.

"My dear, what you think is the _only_ things that matters. You can tell your old friend Santiago. We've known one another long enough."

Melissah laughed. "You're old enough to be my father and you speak to me as if you are. You want information out of me? Santiago, that's going to cost you."

Drumming his fingers on the counter, the fence glanced at the package, then to the door, before settling that one abysmal eye on her. "I've heard that the _Hudar_ Prophet has stayed in the palace these past three months' time, free to wander as a citizen."

"That's correct."

"And even the priest guardian from the south left. Raven of the _Hudar_ has been residing under the same roof as the sovereignty of Norr, and absolutely nothing strange has occurred? She hasn't smothered them in her sleep, painted the halls with blood?"

Melissah huffed. "Everyone goes on about how much of a barbarian she is. Like she's liable to snap at any moment. I think it's a load of pig shit." Santiago snorted, but she continued. "Granted, she has a snarky attitude, but she's also one of the most respectable people I've ever met. She's… humble. Intelligent. Kind, even."

Santiago leaned forward with interest. "You've met her?"

Melissah smiled slowly. "I'm sensing a bit of envy from the Great Market's most notorious fence. Have you never met a _Hudar_ before? I suspect most Norrians haven't. She's certainly quite…_interesting_."

"You're fond of the Prophet, I see. Very peculiar indeed," he stroked his chin. "I must meet this _witch_."

"You'd have to leave the market for that, I think. Are you even allowed within a hundred paces of the palace?" she teased.

"I've a mind to think that eventually our paths with cross. Like ours have again, Melissah." Straightening, Santiago pushed the package closer to her. "Tell the Queen that I do so approve of her tastes, will you?" he said mildly.

With a lopsided smile, she snatched the package, nestling it under one arm. "I'll be sure to, my lord Santiago."

He clasped his hands behind his back. "I assume it's too much to hope that you might take interest in a few odd jobs now and then? No one can ever follow simple directions anymore. I think care has dwindled in the thieving community."

"You do miss me!" Melissah laughed, turning to leave. "You old boar, you really need to get out of this cavern and seek some attention."

Santiago's eye rolled, and with an elegant gesture, he pointed to the door. "Be gone, little thief. Lest I send my street dogs to find you and collect upon the debt I'm owed."

She hesitated in the doorway, suddenly apprehensive. "I owe you no debt."

The following pause was long and uncomfortable enough to remind the young woman that she was playing precariously close to fire. "If you recall, you were on an errand for me when you were caught stealing bread by the Queen, four years ago," Santiago said evenly. "I paid you in advance. Foolish of me, perhaps, but you never gave me reason to fret."

Frowning, she let the door close back behind her, playing with the package in her hands. This was dangerous ground. Santiago was after something, and there was no way to guess as to what. "What do you want in return?"

Tilting his head to the side, the masked man paced the few feet separating them. His cool, gloved hand trailed a finger across her cheek. "When you acquire some interesting information, I expect you to share. That is all."

Relief eased her shoulders. That wasn't too terrible a request. "You have my word, Santiago. Anything interesting and you will know of it." With one last parting smile, Melissah scurried out the door.

**O.O.O**

Alyssa Norxis was nothing but a bundle of anxiety swathed in pretty clothes. Harboring a fugitive, lending her aid in escaping, giving her disguise and means. Queen or not, Alyssa was taking a grave risk in helping Raven. Her rational mind did nothing but repeat this fear over and over again, but her heart beat with such vibrant pride that it drowned out all else. Regardless of the consequences, she wouldn't rather be anywhere else at this moment. There was even something inherently exciting about fleeing Olisgard on a spur of the moment decision. Could she really just throw away all that she'd gained for this uncertain future? She was wound too tightly with nervousness to tell.

Pace at a quick trot, Alyssa led them further west down the main road. They hadn't run into a single complication since leaving the stables. Citizens and country folk waved the Queen and her servant by, none the wiser. Even a few guards just bowed in respect, not questioning where the Queen was headed. They had no reason to, after all. _Word hasn't spread yet_, she thought. _Maybe they hadn't found the bodies._ Rounding the bend in the road, the heavily patrolled western gates came into view. The great wall surrounding Olisgard was twenty feet high, constructed of granite mined from the mountains in the north. To this day, the walls had never been breached. It was a formidable sight.

Raven did nothing but curse under her breath as she eyed the gates in the distance. She shouldn't have let Alyssa make this risk for her. She should have been quicker leaving the stables. She shouldn't have fallen in love. Gaze quickly flickering to the beautiful woman riding ahead of her, Raven frowned. She would never be able to live with herself if something happened to Alyssa. It was an odd feeling for the _Hudar_, who had all but forgotten what it felt like to genuinely care for another being.

"We need a plan," Alyssa said mildly, checking her mount to allow Raven's shorter bay to catch up. "When we get out the gates, where do you aim to go?"

Silent, Raven studied the blue horizon still visible above the wall. There were three carrier ravens flying swiftly ahead of them, traveling west with purpose. "Alyssa—the ravens."

"I see them," she hissed, suddenly driving her horse into an easy canter.

Heeling her mount, Raven kept pace with the Queen, sharp mind racing. They couldn't outrun the carrier birds the guard would have sent in all directions. The road from the gates to _Hudar_ would be swarming with men assembling the mining expedition to _The Spire_. The south housed the Citadel, and drastically more alarming—Khalimat. Raven was not ready to face that woman, no matter how enraged she was. That only left one option, however futile and folly. Her only chance was to head in the very same direction that the King would have already deducted. "North," she said quickly, not pleased. "We head north."

Alyssa eased her horse back to a trot just as they neared the gates. As usual, a dozen guards were stationed there, watchful eyes studying them as they approached. "Your grace, what a lovely sight you make in the morning sunshine!" an archer shouted from atop the tower.

"Oh stop," she feigned embarrassment with all the practice of royalty. "You flatter me!"

The guards standing near the opened gate grinned at one another, shifting excitedly. Any day they got to see the Queen was bound to be a good day. Not only was she beautiful, she was always enjoyable with the guard, and a world more casual than the King. The commanding lieutenant put his hands on his hips, letting out a low whistle. "Great Zeus, your grace. Is that a new horse? Look at that gait. He's a might bit full of himself, isn't he?"

"Indeed," she smiled, ruffling the stallion's mane. "I thought I'd take him for a nice ride this morning. Let him stretch his legs. I've brought my servant along, so you needn't worry about me," she gestured.

Beside the Queen, Raven kept her eyes downcast, shoulders hunched, trying to appear as unobtrusive as humanly possible. The guard surrounded them, yammering and gesturing to one another, all eyes watching them. Raven was keenly aware of how close they were standing to her horse, how quickly she could reach down and snatch one of their swords. She would be out the gate before they could secure it, and beyond the range of the archers before they could knock a single arrow. She could make a run for it now and Alyssa wouldn't be able to follow. She would be safe and innocent here with the guard. They wouldn't know that she helped bring her this far.

Violet eyes strayed to the closest sword, a tempting, leather wrapped key to freedom. An old, familiar rage simmered beneath her flesh, threatening to erupt. Hands clenching the reins, her horse danced a step sideways, uneasy. The gelding could sense the danger of the creature he was carrying.

Alyssa noticed, quickly drawing attention to herself. "Have your men been to the Palace since the celebration? It's so far away from the fete out here. I do hope your Captain let you enjoy yourselves last night, if only a little bit," she said dryly, winking.

They all laughed. "We've never left our post, your grace. But we toasted to Norr's victory last night. Don't stray too far now, I think it's going to rain today," the lieutenant said. "I'd hate for you to get caught in a storm."

Glancing up at the western sky, Alyssa smiled blandly as they passed beneath the massive stone gates. "I do think you're right. We won't be long then. Thank you for the concern, my kind lieutenant."

"Anything for you, your grace," he bowed, blowing her a secret kiss when she wasn't looking.

"Come along Sara! See if you can keep up!" the Queen shouted excitedly, heeling her horse to a gallop, kicking up dirt.

Grinding her teeth, Raven urged her gelding onward, chasing after Alyssa. _She's absolutely mad! How can she just smile her way through a dozen guards without so much as a question?_ Rapid exhilaration flooded her system as the cool breeze whipped past her. The pounding of hooves on free ground brought a strange little smile to her lips. _But Sekhmet be damned, we made it out the gates!_ With each stride, Raven felt her soul stirring somewhere in the depths.

Atop the tower, the guards shouted boisterous encouragement as the two women raced north across the open field surrounding the city. With a wry smile, the lieutenant snatched an apple from his bag. Alyssa Norxis grew up on the back of a horse, and riding the beast that she was now, that poor maidservant didn't stand a chance! Taking a bite, he happily chewed his apple, only wandering back into the base of the tower when the two women disappeared in the trees far in the distance. Glancing back towards the city proper, he sighed. There was bound to be a mass exodus in a few hours, as all the country folk wandered back to their respective towns. Not to mention the men gearing up for the dangerous trek into _Hudar_, seeking the untouched riches at the base of _The Spire_. There would be countless people to check over, goods to count, horses to inspect. A busy day, like always.

"We've received a raven from the palace!" one guard shouted down the stairwell.

"I'll be up in a moment," the lieutenant called back, finishing the last of his apple. He had too much wine last night, and was feeling a bit out of it this morning. They all were.

"Sir, you better come quickly," the guard replied.

Brow furrowed at the guard's tone, the lieutenant dashed up the winding staircase, striding into the main room of the watch tower. A gangly raven sat perched on the open window sill, eerie black eyes watching him with an alien expression. The guard handed him a rolled up note without a word. Lips pressed in a thin line, the lieutenant read over the incident at the palace, jaw clenching. The note crumpled in his fist, and he pointed swiftly to the door.

"Seal the gates. Nothing gets in or out," he snapped. "The _Hudar_ Prophet has slain two men and is on the run. I want all eyes vigilant, you hear me? And send your fastest rider to fetch the Queen."

The guard scurried to the steps, shouting the orders back down to the awaiting men. Loud voices echoed in the watch tower as the royal guard came to full attention. The massive, heavy gate groaned slowly towards the ground. Unexpectedly, a second raven fluttered in the window, jostling the first with a nasty squawking sound. They pecked at one another irritably, making an awful racket. "What is it now?" the lieutenant groaned, snatching the thin note from the bird's ankle. He unrolled the paper, expression going white with increasing dread as he scanned the note.

"What is it, sir?" the guard asked hesitantly.

"The Queen has been missing more than an hour," he said slowly, gaze shifting to the window. _Missing? She just went for a morning ride. Nothing out of the ordinary._ She didn't seem the least bit concerned of anything just a moment ago. In fact, she seemed quite happy, and accompanied by a maidservant from the palace. The woman hadn't said a word, but her horse was a bit skittish. Due to the men, perhaps. _Or maybe… _A stray thought caught his attention. "What color hair did the servant have?" he asked faintly, stomach dropping to his knees. "The one riding with the Queen, on the bay gelding."

"It was black. I believe the Queen called her Sara." The guard blinked at what he'd just said, thinking. "Her hair was _black_… in a long braid. Sir, I don't think—"

"None of the servants in the palace have black hair! They're all from Olisgard. Brown or blonde is all we breed here! Sound the alarm; send a team after the Queen—she doesn't know that's the Prophet!" Snatching a blank note roll, the lieutenant scratched a quick note to the palace. Attaching it back to the raven's leg, he shooed the bird off the window, watching it flap its ugly wings towards the palace. His heart was firmly lodged in his throat. He just let the _Hudar_ murderer march through the gates with the Queen of Norr. The King would have his head for this.

**O.O.O**

Melissah grew wary as she neared the stables. There was a mass gathering of guards readying horses, shouting curt orders to one another. Strained urgency hung heavy in the air. One man noticed her and came striding out of the stables, grabbing her horse's reins before she could slip away unnoticed. "You girl, what is your name? And why do you ride the Queen's horse?"

"My lord, I am Melissah Rossario, the Queen's maidservant," she replied tightly. The guard was supposed to know that. The Queen told them she was going to be out. "Is something awry?"

"Captain, over here!" the guard shouted, then held a hand up to her. "Dismount. Quickly, now!"

Melissah took the guard's hand, scowling when he practically wrenched her to the ground. The Queen's package was tucked tightly beneath her arm. Another guard snatched the reins and led the black gelding away. Before she could inquire the problem, a tall, stern-faced man approached them, bearing the mark of Captain. Stark grey uniform highlighted by shining armor, even his boots held the air of importance. There was something in his pale expression that made her stomach churn. "My lord," Melissah curtsied.

"You are Melissah?" he asked, running his gaze over her. "You're not dressed as a servant."

Melissah resisted the urge to scoff. _A might bit conceited, aren't we?_ "The Queen decides what I wear, my lord. This was what I was given. If you'll excuse me, I've actually been on an errand for the Queen. I'm to report back to her immediately." She turned to leave, but a hand grasped her firmly at the elbow, jerking her back a step.

"The Queen is missing, girl," Captain Roberts snapped.

"_What?_" she blurted, clearly surprised. "But—I just saw her an hour ago, maybe a little longer! In the hall near the courtyard!"

_An hour ago_, he noted. The girl's timeframe matched what the guards had said regarding the incident in the gardens. The courtyard is where Dominick had met up with Alyssa this morning. Alyssa herself told him this girl was going to be away at the market. Melissah was likely innocent, but the Captain wasn't taking any chances. "What was the errand?" he questioned, staring at the package under her arm.

She held it tighter. "My lord, the Queen forbade me from speaking of it to anyone. All I can say is that I went to the market and returned," she said faintly. Alyssa was missing? But—how? Why? Did it have something to do with what was in this package?

Expression darkening, the Captain roughly tugged her towards a young, freshly trained guard. "Take the _lady_ Rossario to the King. He will want to have a word with her. No stops—understood?"

"Yes, sir!" the guard nodded fervently. Captain Roberts stormed off, leaving the two blinking at one another. Melissah felt a shiver of fear creep down her spine. The King wanted to see _her? _Troubling news. The package seemed to grow as heavy as a bolder in her arms. There was something truly wrong transpiring.

"Come with me, my lady," the guard said, gently taking Melissah by the arm. "I'm sorry for the Captain's gruffness. It's been quite a morning."

_Aqua_. His eyes were the lovely color of the sea. The hair peeking past the edges of his helmet was very dark brown, and his face was kind. _He can't be more than eighteen_, she thought. Young and inexperienced. She felt a smile tug at the corner of her lips. He would be easy to get away from. "And who might you be, my lord?" she asked politely.

Flashing a shy smile, the guard pulled open the door to the palace proper, holding it for her. "Grayson, my lady. From Yales."

_He's from the southern province, then. That would explain the dark hair I suppose. But blue eyes? Must have some northern blood in him, though it definitely didn't help with his height…_ "Well Grayson, I must ask. All these guards assembled here are not going looking for the Queen. She can't be missing. Surely she went for a walk or something. So why so many guards?"

"My lady, I cannot say," he shook his head.

_He is quite green if he addresses me as my lady_, she mused. They headed down the hall towards the stairs. If an incident had occurred, the King would be in his main chambers in the western tower, convening with his generals. Or, he would be in the courtyard addressing the guard. Either way, Melissah had the sinking suspicion that whatever the King wanted from her would pertain to this package. She would not betray Alyssa, no matter who demanded. Escape danced in her mind, reminiscent of her old days on the street. It would be a simple task, like the sleight of hand. One moment she'd be there, and the next, poor Grayson would find himself standing alone without his charge.

"Very well then," she sighed. "But must you hold my arm like that? I'm the Queen's servant, not a criminal," she said mildly.

Startled, Grayson let go. "My apologies—I do not think of you as such," he gestured, hands straying to his belt out of newly ingrained habit. He indicated the stone staircase. Indeed, they were headed for the western tower. "This way, my lady."

Eyeing him, Melissah gathered her skirt in her free hand, taking the steps one at a time. "If I may ask, my lord Grayson, what made you want to become a royal guard?"

"Ah." Lips twitching, he glanced up ahead. "My father was a soldier. I aim to be like him one day."

"Was?" she hedged.

"He was killed in _Hudar_," he explained quietly. "Last year. He was one of the first ranks to reach the mountains."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Frowning a bit, Melissah studied the curve of the steps. Ahead of them would be an alcove with a hidden nook leading to the servant's quarters. The passageways were how the servants could travel to and fro without being seen, unobtrusive, silent, and graceful. They also had their other uses. A few steps away from escape, Melissah steeled her nerves. "I'm sure you will do him honor, Lord Grayson. You seem to be a good man, and we've so little of them these days."

Blushing, he looked away. "My lady, you flatter me." She was quite charming for such a young woman. He hoped the King wouldn't be too long talking to her. He had the strong desire to continue this conversation with her. "And what about you? How did you come to be a servant for the Queen—" he jerked to a stop, suddenly alone in the stairwell. No footsteps, no sounds—only the immediate rush of dread that made the pulse pound in his ears. "_Shit!_" he swore, dashing down the steps.

Across the palace, Melissah emerged from an alcove, dressed in common street garb. Slinging a tattered bag over one shoulder, she hurried to the doors. With the quiet grace learned within these walls, she slipped past a group of guards bickering, taking to the streets of Olisgard with steadfast determination. She was going to find the Queen and deliver her package, even if it was the last task she'd ever undertake.

**O.O.O**

They raced as if the very ghouls of hell were at their heels, driving onward north until their mounts began to tire. After an hour's time, the sparsely wooded grassland gave way to a thick deciduous forest that was challenging to maneuver through. Alyssa cursed under her breath as branches and thorns snagged on her elegant riding attire, whipped across her face, tangled in her hair. Raven wove through the trees with an innate sense of the forest, ducking and weaving without much difficulty. Her shorter, less bulky horse had an easier time in the woods, and they took the lead, aiming to put as much distance between them and Olisgard as possible. They stopped at a shallow creek bed, letting their horses drink and rest.

"How long do you think we have before the lieutenant figures out that you weren't a palace servant?" Alyssa asked, tugging a briar from her hair with a growl.

"They already know." Raven dug in the saddle bag, retrieving the sword and dagger, securing it around her waist. "The question is only how long before they catch us."

Sitting down on a fallen log, the Queen surveyed her ruined attire. She hadn't brought a change of clothes for herself, and if they were headed north, they both would need to acquire something warmer to wear. Especially when they rode for the wastelands of _Hudar_. "We've an admirable head-start, you must admit."

"Admirable isn't the word I would choose," Raven said dryly, running her hands down the gelding's legs, checking his hooves.

"Well, aren't you a cynical absconder," Alyssa mocked. The _Hudar_ didn't even glance in her direction. Sensing the growing tension, the Queen narrowed her eyes. "What's troubling you?" Only the subdued babble of the creek replied, ticking by with the long seconds. "Raven—_look_ at me."

Violet eyes snapped to meet hers, harboring a trace of anguish. "I would have rather you didn't come, that's all," she murmured.

A frown weighed down Alyssa's light mood. "I do hope that's not because you fear I will slow you down," she said, anger creeping into her tone.

Raven glanced in the direction they'd come, listening for the tell-tale crash of pursuing soldiers. All was quiet, and the ominous calm was driving her mad. "I fear something will happen to you, Alyssa. Something terrible—because of _me_."

"Will you get off that selfish pride you bear?" she snapped, getting to her feet. "You did not force me to come. You made a choice, and I made mine. Do not think to lessen that because you feel misplaced guilt!"

Raven stood eye to eye with Alyssa, only a few inches shorter than the Queen. Even in servant's clothing and a neat braid, she had the look of the wild to her. "I feel no guilt," she hissed. "Only agony. And you seek to add to it by being a fool! You're betraying the very nation you rule for one barbaric, _wretched witch!_"

The words were seeped in self-loathing, but they stung Alyssa's flesh like a lash. Hands gentle, she grasped Raven's shoulders, keeping her close when she tried to pull away. "You are not wretched," Alyssa whispered, waiting for those haunted eyes to look at her again. "Raven, I don't care what they think or say. You are not barbaric. You are not a lesser being, wretched or otherwise. I'm not so blinded by your strange charm not to see that you are what we rudely call _witch_—" Raven's expression went blank, a strong, impenetrable mask snapping in place. "—but it does not frighten me. _You_ do not frighten me."

"I should," Raven whispered, smiling to hide the horrible emotions churning in her at Alyssa's sympathetic words.

"You don't," she replied firmly. "There's very little surety in this world, Raven. I've seen countless people— citizens of Norr, mind you—that have sought to take all that they could. They would drive a blade in my back without hesitation if they believed they could get away with it. They smile and nod and lie to my face. They steal and cheat, mislead and scheme. Evil, truly wretched creatures nobles are. But you…" Alyssa brushed a stray hair off Raven's cheek, studying her alabaster face, flush with exertion. "I know in my very soul that you will never betray me. I can see it in your eyes."

Raven froze, heart thundering like a war drum. With all the repressed anger, misery, torture she'd been through; the years of forced servitude, unkind treatment, exhausting demands placed on her by the Priestess; the absolute and fervent desire for revenge that made her bones ache. With all the unknown power lurking beneath her skin, twisting her dark soul with the promise of sweet blood and screams—it was true. She would never betray Alyssa. She would rather die. That notion alone was utterly terrifying. It meant that the _Hudar_ jackal was truly drawn to the Queen of Norr. If she had been raised in her rightful lands, Raven would be _Za'hava_ by now, a formidable and ruthless warrior of the veil. But the gods, in their mysterious way, had other plans for her. She'd spent years cursing them for the unjust punishment she was dealt. Every step was more painful than the last, but Raven masochistically, stubbornly, hopefully kept moving forward.

But now? Surely she wasn't that horrible of a soul in her past life, nothing that would warrant this feeling overtaking her as she gazed at a pair of fuchsia eyes belonging to a woman that could melt her with a single touch. _Sira kavi_, Raven thought wryly, _what a cruel mistress I've been given_.

Clearing her throat, the _Hudar_ relented. "We ride for Jamestown then. Hopefully we can procure supplies before someone catches us. You they will be happy to see. Myself, however, they will probably flay alive."

Grinning victory, Alyssa pulled Raven into a fierce hug. "I wouldn't let them, and you certainly wouldn't let yourself get caught," she said mildly, kissing Raven before she could reply. "Where do we head after Jamestown, my love?"

Facing west, an odd little smile replaced the stern frown on Raven's face. A cool wind whispered through the trees, making the loose hairs dance around her face. "We tackle the badlands and ride for _Hudar_."


	4. Chapter 4

_**One That Walks the Veil**_

_****Chapter Four_

* * *

Raven and Alyssa kept a steady pace north through the dense forest, avoiding soft ground whenever possible in hopes to lessen their tracks. The ride was rough, winding between trees, over creek beds, around hills. It wasn't until they were more than half way to Jamestown before Raven heard the recognizable cadence of a soldier battalion crashing through the woods behind them. Eight, maybe ten armed men keen on catching the two women. Raven wisely assumed they aimed to save the Queen and capture the murderous _Hudar_. They were thusly riding like their lives depended on it.

There were several shouts that could be heard, however faintly, that sent the Queen's pulse racing. "Damn," Alyssa breathed. "How are they gaining ground so quickly? We've stopped naught but twice!"

"They're not," Raven assured her. "The sound's echoing in the valley. Follow me." She steered her mount east, driving him forward up a steep embankment.

It was a perilous grade of wet earth and fallen logs, and more than once Alyssa feared her stocky stallion would flip over backwards as he charged up the hill after the _Hudar_. Rocks clattered, branches snapped, the horse's heavy breathing sounded like a billows, loud and hair-raising. Surely the guard would hear them, figure out which direction they were headed. It was several hundred yards higher before the ridge plateaued into a semi-arid flat of thin, wind swept pine trees. To the west of them and far below at the bottom of the valley, a few splashes of grey and shiny metal moved through the green. The guard had miles to go to round the valley. Jamestown was to the east of Raven and Alyssa, down a gently sloping ridge. The two women had cut their travel distance in half by scaling the embankment. Alyssa blinked. _Mountain_, she corrected, studying the landscape. They'd scaled a mountain.

They let their horses rest a moment beneath the shade of a pine tree, feeding them a few handfuls of sweet grain. They would have to buy more feed in town to suppliment grass and greens, and keep their mounts in good stamina. Alyssa's stomach gave an audible rumble as she loosened her riding jacket.

"I've some coin. We'll find you something to eat in town," Raven said.

"I'm fine," Alyssa huffed. "Really. I can go without lunch and not faint. I'm not a frail flower."

Raven smiled wryly, running her gaze over the Queen's disheveled clothing. Her shoulder length blonde hair, neatly styled and pinned in place this morning, was snagged with small twigs and pieces of green, stray strands jutting wildly. Raven plucked a leaf from Alyssa's hair. "This is a good look for you, I think. Rugged Queen of Norr scales first mountain. Very becoming."

Alyssa grinned, snatching Raven's wrist, tugging her close. "I look a mess. How is it that your hair that's always such a disaster somehow looks dignified? That braid kept through all that foliage—not one briar or stickyweed. How is that possible?"

"Because _you_ braided my hair?" the _Hudar_ replied sweetly, touching the tip of Alyssa's nose with an index finger.

Alyssa snorted, shoving her away. "You've coin, that's helpful. But how are we to procure anything in town? Surely word's spread by now."

"It's quite simple. You are going to stay hidden while I venture into town and secure our supplies," Raven replied. When the other women gave her a dark look, the _Hudar_ gestured. "You stand out, Alyssa. Dressed as I am, I do not. To the casual observer, at least."

"I do not stand out," Alyssa argued.

Raven laughed. "You're riding a gorgeous, expensive white stallion. You're wearing riding clothes that cost more than some commoner's homes, and your eyes, however beautiful, are quite unique. They will know in a moment who you are. Then you'll be swept away by the royal guard and carted back to Olisgard. To _your_ King."

"I am not sitting in the woods," Alyssa pouted now, glancing down the ridge. "What if something happens to you? What if you're captured? How would I know?"

Raven hesitated as she adjusted her tan robes to hide the sword at her waist. She retrieved the Priest's dagger, extending it to Alyssa. "Take it," she insisted, forcing it into her hands. "Just in case. I've survived this long. It would be incredibly ironic for something to befall me now. The gods are far cruler than that." Gathering up her gelding's reins, Raven swung up into the saddle. "We'll follow the treeline down. Once we find a suitable spot for you to wait, I'll slip into town."

Alyssa sighed, climbing into her own saddle with a quiet groan. Her muscles were sore already, and the prospect of more rough terrain made her weary. "And what am I to do while I wait? Talk to him?" she gestured to her horse. Nickering impatiently, the stallion turned his head around, nipping at the toe of her boot. "Stop that!" she huffed, swatting at him. "I swear, he's worse than a yearling. How old are you, nag?"

"You could think of a name for him," Raven said with a crooked smile, urging her horse down the ridge.

**O.O.O**

Khalimat set down her tea cup, gazing across the lush gardens of her private chambers in Kebos. Time had been kind to the Priestess. Grey streaks in her lush brown hair and wrinkles in her dark skin only added an edge of dignity to the now sixty-two year old Norrian. She was well-respected by all in the realm, honored even. But Khalimat didn't attain such reverence by her looks. Intelligence bred from an innate ambition drove the women to where she was today. And it was that very intelligence that nagged her each passing day as of late, like a pebble in her shoe, suggesting something was wrong.

With winter slowly rolling in, the stifling heat of the Gentle Desert would drop to something more tolerable. In a little more than a month's time, the sacred _Longest Night_ of the year would arrive. As head Priestess of the temple of Sekhmet, Khalimat was in charge of the great ceremony. Norrians from all of the south would come to worship and celebrate, eager to watch the magic of the holy day. Eager to see the _Hudar_ part the veil. If the King continued his ambitious trek to _The Spire_, Khalimat feared he would beg further use of the Prophet. As such, this would be the first year in almost a decade that the Priestess would have to conduct the ritual without Raven. Wilding or not, the _Hudar_ had impeccable discipline when it came to ceremony, among other things. Put simply, the woman was gifted with a vast capacity for all walks of magic—some the Priestess didn't even have a name for. It was the latter skills that drew the most attention from the southern Norrians. Raven was unique, enigmatic, and dangerous. No fool, Khalimat kept her aptly named Prophet on a very short leash for a terribly long time, feeling out the unknown power lurking in those dark, violet eyes. After fifteen years, Khalimat trusted the woman—to a point. Otherwise, she would never have let Raven venture to Olisgard.

Frowning, Khalimat pushed the fruit around on her plate in idle disinterest. She was hesitant to admit to herself that she missed Raven's presence, however reserved and aloof. She couldn't remember ever having such a difficult time taming a vagabond as she did with Raven. Perhaps it was her quiet disdain, the snide remarks, the general cynicism she gave off that was somewhat appealing. The woman had to have some redeeming qualities, because most of the adepts of the temple liked Raven, the previously mentioned attributes notwithstanding. Khalimat doubted Raven felt the same way toward the majority of Kebos, even Norr. The civilized world had been unjustly cruel to the _Hudar_, and while she functioned admirably within the confines of this society, Khalimat could see the toll it was having on Raven. She hoped the break from the strict desert life and the colorful new environment of Olisgard would be beneficial to the gloomy woman. If one thing was a priority for the Priestess, it was Raven's sanity. If it were to dwindle, Khalimat didn't want to think of what the wronged _Hudar_ might do.

"Excuse me, Priestess," a servant said quietly, jarring Khalimat out of her thoughts. "We've received a raven from the Palace in Olisgard."

_Favir made good time there_, she mused, extending her hand for the rolled up note. While it pained her to acknowledge it, Favir had completed all that was necessary to achieve his white robes. Still, he was a self-righteous bastard that she was glad to be rid of for the time being. She only hoped Raven gave the stick of a man as much hell now as she did when they first met. Unrolling the thin strip of parchment, the Priestess' face went slack with shock.

—_The Hudar Prophet has slain Brother Favir and a royal guard, and has fled Olisgard. Priestess, do you know what she might do? Hudar is her likely destination, but what of between now and then? How much danger are we in? What sort of monster did you send to me?—_

The note was written in the King's own hand. Khalimat sat back in her chair, weather worn fingers covering her mouth as she read the note again. Slowly, a smile curved her lips. _Oh Favir, you ignorant dolt. _Raven was never prone to violent outbursts. The woman never lost her temper. She never made a fool of herself. She never betrayed what she was really thinking. _Favir forced her hand_. The question was: by what means? What did the arrogant Priest discover that would warrant his permanent silence, and so quickly?

The second, and quite possibly more important question, was the same concern King Dominick Kenos had. What would Raven do? _She will find what's left of her people. Then she will seek revenge. Kenos will never set foot at the base of The Spire._ Given the _Hudar's_ sense of justice, Kenos might not have a foot to step with if Raven deemed an audience with him pertinent to her retribution. And what of Khalimat's safety? Would Raven return to Kebos? Would she risk moving so close to a temple surrounded by guards and outposts? Khalimat couldn't say for sure. She'd have to convene with the gods and bid their guidance. Perhaps even their protection.

"Bring me parchment and ink," Khalimat asked the servant boy. There was something tumultuous occurring in the central province that was most curious, it seemed. "And find the Captain of the Citadel. Tell him I bid his counsel." A little earthly protection was never unwise either.

**O.O.O**

The arid ridge sloped down into an evergreen forest, the unofficial line of the northern province. This was unfamiliar land to Raven, who scanned the treeline, wary of every sound. There was a road nearby, which meant they weren't far off from Jamestown now. There would be villagers, travellers, witnesses to their presence. They had to be careful.

"Which direction is north?" Alyssa asked.

Raven pointed slightly to their left, eyeing the peak of a mountain visible between the break in the trees. "Town is at the base of that mountain, right? We're close."

"Are you still keen on leaving me?" Alyssa murmured dully.

"Absolutely."

Raven was as stubborn as a cow resting in the middle of the road. There was little argument that the Queen could muster, considering the truth to Raven's concern. Even with her violet eyes, Raven looked rather unremarkable as she was dressed. Years spent as a background fixture meant she was very adept at blending in. Sighing, Alyssa gave the _Hudar_ a mild look. "You'll get me something comfortable and warm, yes?"

"No, I thought to get you something pleasing to the eye. It's a dreadfully long trip into _Hudar_," Raven drawled. Alyssa threw a stick at her, hitting the wry woman in the back of the head. "_Oww_—watch it, woman! I'll get you something warm."

"Good," Alyssa quipped cheerfully.

After a suitable hiding spot was located, Raven rode off for town, leaving Alyssa sulking in a secluded cove of trees. An ache throbbed behind her eyes, and she tiredly pinched between her brows, regretting skipping breakfast. _How would I have known I was going on the lam this morning?_ she mused to herself. Suddenly remembering Melissah, worry rose in her chest. The girl was loyal, she had no doubt, but was she clever enough to know when to disappear? Surely Dominick would seek her out and—_No_, she assured herself. Melissah was a thief, afterall. No matter what she wore, how nice she conducted herself, how innocent she appeared; the young woman was truly a survivor. Alyssa admired her. _She's safe_, she thought, rubbing her elbows. _Safer than we are_.

After a length of time passed with little change in her surroundings, Alyssa grew quite bored. She slumped down on a rock beside her horse, picking at the leather braids on the reins. As if oblivious to being an instrument in a traitorous act, the stallion happily muched away on grass. "I suppose you do need a name," she mused, scratching behind his ear. "What shall it be?" It seemed the horse had little concern for a name. He continued to gobble up anything green in sight. Alyssa rolled her eyes. "You're a greedy pig, that's what you are. I would have been better off taking another horse. At this rate, you'll eat us out of supplies in no time."

A gust of wind blew through the forest, lacing the air with the sweet scent of evergreen and rain. Ominous grey sky peeked through the tree tops. The lieutenant's warning of an impending storm passed through the Queen's thoughts, earning a slow frown from the woman. November was cool and rainy in central Norr. In _Hudar_ it was likely already snowing. A desolate, harsh, unforgiving environment awaited them. Tugging her short riding coat a little tighter, Alyssa stared at the tips of her boots, questioning if she was really prepared for this journey.

The stallion paused his gorging, raising his head into the wind, ears perked. "What is it?" Alyssa whispered, scanning the trees, suddenly on edge. The horse let out a terribly low snort, swishing his tail, nervously dancing in place. Clutching the dagger in her hand, Alyssa got to her feet. Always a confident, capable woman, it never occured to her that eventually she might happen across an individual that didn't acknowledge her title or rank, her intelligence, or acknowledge her as a human being. There were wicked people in this world, and in fleeing her kingdom she forfeited her status and all the perks it provided. In the sense of self-preservation, she vowed to do whatever was necessary, no matter how badly her hands were shaking, and no matter how acrid the taste of fear was on the back of her tongue. _You're the Queen of Norr, Alyssa. For Athena's sake—hold yourself together_.

A branch cracked somewhere to her left, twenty yards off. She jerked towards the sound, heart racing. Flinging the reins back over the stallion's head, Alyssa scrambled into the saddle just as another branch cracked, closer this time. Sensing her alarm, the horse was already moving, clambering through the brush like mad, putting rapid distance between her and the menacing something lurking behind them. As frantic seconds turned into minutes, Alyssa sent fleeting glances backwards, forwards, sideways. What direction was she running? She didn't know. "Woah, woah," she cooed to the horse, pulling hard on the reins, trying to slow him down enough to gain a sense of direction. Eyes wide, head low, he pointedly refused, charging onward in a blind run. "Stop, you dumb beast!" Alyssa swore as they moved farther away from where Raven had left them. How would she find her way back? _Damn this horse!_

It was then she heard them crashing in the trees on either side of her, behind her. Three horses, three men, none of them royal guards. A quick glance at their poorly drabbed sleves confirmed her fears. "Slow down my pretty li'l dove!" one called out to her in mocking sweetness, laughing. "We only want to talk with ya!"

_Highwaymen_, she cursed, tightening her grip on the reins. Their horses were fresher than her stallion, whose sides were heaving with exertion now, long stride waivering. One of the men darted up beside her, atop an ugly, short brown horse. He reached for her reins, aiming to stop her stallion. Immediate anger scorched Alyssa like fire in her veins.

"Piss _off_!" she shouted, kicking him square in the chin. He tumbled backwards off his mount, slamming into the ground. Shouting obscenities, a second man raced beside Alyssa, swiping the air between them with a stick, nearly hitting her in the head. The stallion balked at the motion, sidestepping wildly. In the unfortunately thick undergrowth, the great white horse tripped over a log hidden in the brush.

Alyssa was airborne for an obscenely long pause. With nothing beneath her but air, lingering nausea sunk in her stomach like lead. Everything came rushing forward just as suddenly, with dirt, leaf litter, and dull pain. Remembering to roll as she landed, the Queen was up on her feet before the two remaining men had circled back towards her. The dagger was still in her hand, terribly heavy feeling. Breathing short and quick, matching her heart thundering in her chest, Alyssa assessed her situation with scarcely contained alarm.

The two men outweighed and outsized her tremendously. The third, where ever he was, would be quite upset if he managed to stagger over to them. They were filthy, scarred, rough-spun thugs, the kind of riff-raff the guard drove out of Olisgard. The very kind that made their living stalking travellers between the towns of Norr. She was simultaneously disgusted and amazed by their presence. What were the chances of being spotted by them? Was this some sign from the gods to turn back? To abandon this foolish game, return to Olisgard, to Dominick Kenos, to everything she loathed. To let Raven slip away into the abyss of uncertainty, possibly never seen again. _No_, she ground her teeth, stance tall and proud. She would not accept this.

"I told you to piss off," Alyssa warned the highwaymen.

"Oy, you're a might bit fiesty," the fatter of the two chuckled, dismounting his horse. "We haven't had a fiesty one in a long time."

"Look at the clothes she's wearing," the second whistled, smiling to show missing teeth. "And those eyes! She's a noble, that one is! I bet we could ransom her."

"I reckon you're right. Put down the knife and we'll be gentle. We promise," the fat man cooed, drawing his own dagger from his belt. "There's a good girl, nice and steady now. Drop the knife."

The sudden and overwhelming desire for Raven's presence never came so strongly before. Alyssa wished that she had even an ounce of the _Hudar's_ wildness, her ferocious knowledge of the obscure and arcane. Something to grasp in her hand other than a blade she had no skill or practice with. She knew words would be lost on these heathens, and alerting them to her title would only make matters worse. Quick, erratic thoughts tumbled through her mind, seeming endlessly unsuccessful. Gaze flickering to movement in the background, a lump of panic lodged in her throat. The man she'd kicked strode towards them now, sword drawn, blood streaming from his nose like war paint. She took a step back, desperately looking for her horse_. Did he fall? Was he alive?_

"Stupid _bitch_," the bloody man swore, wiping at his chin. A large wound split his flesh, and his large nose appeared bent to one side. If he was unattractive before, Alyssa's attention only heightened it. He spat on the ground between them, stepping closer, sword aimed for her throat. "I'll be sure to repay the favor before you warm my bed, you _wretched little whore_."

And just like that, the paralyzing fear was replaced with seething, overpowering rage. Alyssa steadied her stance, dagger pointed at his chest, jaw clenched. "Take one more step and _it will be your last_," she hissed. An odd undercurrent tinged her words, soft and unspoken; ominous and crystal clear.

The men hesitated, exchanging inquiring looks. Bloody man put away his sword, wiping at his chin again. "Don't just stand there, you stupid shits. Get the wench!"

Foolishly, they obliged their leader. Dagger clenched in her hand, Alyssa glared hatefully at them, willing her heart to beat just a little slower, long enough to think. _Men like them don't deserve to live!_ She screamed to herself, tensing every nerve in her body. They took another step closer, almost an arm's length away now_. I'll have to kill them_, she thought anxiously, glancing at the tree tops for a brief moment, as if for guidance.

Or a favor.

An unexpected _crack_ sounded, a deafening explosion echoing in the forest. Everyone jerked to stillness, questionably looking around. A strange, hair-raising creaking followed. Only Alyssa looked up. With a gasp, she leapt sideways, barely escaping the massive, ancient evergreen that toppled to the ground with a terrible crash. The enormous limbs and trunk crushed the three men beneath a sea of green and brown, their short screams abruptly silenced.

The smell of winter christened with blood danced in the breeze. Alyssa stared, bewildered.

**O.O.O **

Raven's light mood darkened when she scanned the cove of trees, finding Alyssa gone. _It was too much to hope that she'd listen_. Sighing, she immediately looked to the ground, to the set of tracks in the freshly turned earth, indicating horses had quickly moved in the very spot. _Horses. More than one_. The _Hudar_ got down from her bay gelding, leading him as she studied the tracks, following them through the woods. Raven walked for quite some time, growing more anxious as the minutes passed. _I was only gone an hour's time at the most. What was Alyssa doing? Why did she run off? Why are there multiple tracks?_

A snort broke the silence. The _Hudar_ froze. A few feet to her left stood Alyssa's white stallion, staring with wide, terrified eyes. Raven's frown deepened as she cautiously approached the horse, noticing the reins snapped in half, the slight tilt to the saddle. Alyssa was nowhere she could see, and worry clenched Raven's heart. "Easy, easy," she soothed, touching the beast's cheek as he nervously shifted. There was a gash above his knee, trickling vermillion down his stark white leg. He'd tripped, she guessed, and threw Alyssa. "Shh, easy beast," she whispered, gently placing a hand over the wound. Murmuing under her breath, Raven recited a simple spell she'd learned as a child in _Hudar_. A shimmering black glow coated her hand, lingering as the slow mantra drifted in the air. When she took her hand away, the gash was only a faint scar, stained with dried blood. Snatching the stallion's reins, she knotted them back together and mounted her gelding, leading the white steed. She continued her search for the Queen of Norr.

It was then that a terrible sound shot through the forest. The following rumbling crash of a tree tumbling to the ground was equally loud. Magic hung in the air like invisible fog, something Raven could almost taste on the back of her tongue, feel against her skin like a chill. Strange magic, the likes she had never felt before. Heeling her mount, the _Hudar_ raced towards the commotion.

Nearly a quarter mile away, she found Alyssa standing alone beside a massive fir tree, dagger in one hand, the other tangled in her hair. She looked pale and a little confused as she stared at the fallen tree. Jerking at the sound of Raven's approach, Alyssa looked up, fear clearly painted in her eyes.

"What in the name of Sekhmet is wrong with you—" Raven's harsh tone stalled. There was a bloody hand protruding from a sea of green needles beside Alyssa. Two unfamiliar horses stood off to the side. Wide eyed, Raven's gaze followed the tree to its base, still firmly rooted in the ground. The trunk had snapped thirty feet up, causing the entire span of canopy to plummet downward. Leaping to the ground, Raven grasped Alyssa's upper arms, giving her a shake. "What happened? Are you alright? You're bleeding."

Alyssa blinked a few times before looking at Raven. "Three Highwaymen. They chased… My horse tripped. They were going to grab me and..." She looked up, at her hands, at the tree. "It just fell. Raven, I don't understand how it happened—I was just looking up at the tree, trying to think of a way to stop them and it just—_it just fell_."

_Trees just don't fall_, the _Hudar_ noted. "Calm down, love," Raven soothed, brushing Alyssa's blonde hair aside to look at the cut on her temple. "That's just a scratch. Nothing to worry about. Come on, we need to head out and make camp before dark. It's going to rain soon."

Alyssa gaped at her. "Did you not hear a word I just said?" She pointed vehemently at the tree, momentarily beyond words. "I—It—Something—Damnit, Raven, _I_ did that! They're dead!" There was a groan from within the mound of fir needles. Raven was already clambering into the fallen tree before Alyssa registered what the strange sound meant. _Oh gods—one of them is alive._

"Hello there, fool," the _Hudar_ said lightly, wrenching the dazed, bloody man to an upright position within the cage of tree limbs. His nose was broken, lips and chin split, face scratched and wounded. "I do hope you enjoyed yourself." Before he could open his mouth to speak, Raven slit his throat with his own dagger. Eyes wide, he flailed backwards, crumpling awkwardly in the chaos of limbs, twitching and gurgling, clutching at his throat. Raven smiled, patiently watching until the man died. Satisfied, she snatched his sword, raided his pockets for some coin, and then climbed back to solid ground.

Alyssa observed the entire exchange in silent shock. Never one of a squemish stomach, the sight of death didn't bother the Queen. She'd condemned people to death, witnessed casualties of war brought home for burial, she even hunted deer and elk. But she'd never personally killed a man before. Raven's impartial demeanor as she slit that man's throat was terribly efficient. Something that had to be done, but sweet goddess, did she have to smile like that?

"Raven," she said quietly, swallowing.

"Hm?" the _Hudar_ looked over from rummaging through the Highwaymen's saddle bags.

"…What did I just do?" Alyssa pleaded almost, arms wrapped around herself.

After removing the saddles and tack, she shooed the horses away, kicking the old leather under the boughs of the fallen tree. Dusting off her hands, Raven approached Alyssa with a small, gentle smile. "Alyssa, I've no idea what you did. Whatever it was saved your life. Now is not the time to dwell on it. We've a long ride ahead of us, and pleanty of time to talk and speculate."

"You're right, I suppose." Nodding slowly, Alyssa glanced at her stallion obediently sulking beside Raven's gelding. "His leg!" she blurted, darting over. Brows scrunched in confusion, she looked for the sorce of the blood, finding nothing but an old scar. "Where did this blood come from—"

"I healed him," Raven said.

She gaped in surprise. "You _healed_ him? You can do that?"

Raven had the decency to look insulted. "Am I not a witch?" she said tartly.

Alyssa caught the sarcastic jab before it left her lips. They called her witch for a reason, even if it was an ignorant one. A priestess of Sekhmet wouldn't hold Raven to such high esteem if the woman wasn't capable of something remarkable. Curiousness despite their situation made the Queen coyer than she would like, but she inquired regardless. "What else can you do?"

Raven regarded her quietly. "It's never wise to reveal your skills without reason," she said mildly, glancing pointedly at the fallen tree. "But I can see you know that already, even if not the means to work the skills."

"You're talking in riddles," Alyssa simpered.

"Did you name the poor beast?" Raven changed the subject, indicating the stallion.

Frowning, Alyssa petted her horse's neck, more for her own comfort than his. Content now, he immediately lowered his head to munch away on some greenery. "I think I'll call him Avarice," she said blandly, pulling herself tiredly up into the saddle just as the rain began to fall.

**O.O.O**

Dominick Kenos paced his bed chambers, beside himself with worry and rage. He'd received a raven from the west gate indicating that the Queen had left the city for a ride in the countryside. Nothing unusual, aside from the Lieutenant's brilliant observation regarding the silent servant woman accompanying Alyssa Norxis. _Long black hair, pale skin, dark eyes._ None of the servants in the Palace had black hair. Most of the citizens of Olisgard had blonde or brown, occasionally red. Only the Norrian's in the southern province had black hair, but never pale skin. Kenos didn't believe in coincidences. He knew that woman was really the Prophet in disguise, and Alyssa didn't even know! She went for a ride with a murdering barbarian this morning, and still hadn't returned. The sun was barely a flicker on the horizon now.

The Queen had been kidnapped by Raven of the _Hudar_. He told himself that over and over, with each pace of the room. A team of soldiers had set chase, losing the trail somewhere south of Jamestown. On the King's orders, they scoured every inch of town, interrogating anyone that crossed their path. None had seen the Queen. None had remembered seeing a _Hudar_ costumed in servant's robes either. _Raven is quite clever_, Kenos seethed, slamming his fist on his desk. She would have changed clothes, masked her appearence once again, taken unpaved cut-throughs in the forests. Had she already slipped into _Hudar_? She had a lengthy head start on this entire production. But why take the Queen? For randsom? For blackmail? To mock him? Did Raven kill Alyssa, leaving her body somewhere in the wilds to be picked upon by vultures?

He couldn't bear to think of his beautiful wife in such a way. Nothing but trembling fury soothed his fears, and he clutched at the ire like a life line.

There was a knock at the door. "What is it?" he snapped, stiffly sitting behind his desk, taking a deep swallow of wine. Captain Roberts stepped inside, a meek guard following. "Did you find something?"

Roberts cut his eyes to the guard, a young man with dark hair and blue eyes that looked quite uncomfortable. "We did find the girl," the Captain said slowly.

Kenos leaned forward, brows questioning. "Girl?"

"Melissah Rossario, the Queen's maidservant, your grace. She returned to the palace from the Queen's errand to the market. She had a package with her."

"What was it? Where is the package?" he jerked to his feet. A clue, perhaps! Something to jog his mind, something to give meaning to Alyssa's odd behavior.

Roberts gave the guard a shove forward. The young man cleared his throat awkwardly, bowing quickly, new armor creaking loudly. "Ah, your grace. I'm sorry, but the lady Melissah still has the package."

He didn't have the patience for this. "And _where_ is Melissah?" Kenos snapped.

Grayson swallowed. "Ah... she disappeared under my watch, your grace. She slipped down a hidden tunnel... I believe they're the servant's tunnels. I looked for her everywhere, but she just vanished. Like a ghost, your grace."

Expression cemented in crimson anger, the King crushed the wine glass in his hand.

Melissah was a thief. There was no doubt in his mind that the little runt was already lurking in her old prowling grounds, somewhere in the market. Why in the seven hells did Alyssa have such a soft spot for her? And why was he such a fool to allow the girl to walk his halls? The same could be said of his apparently misplaced trust in Raven of the _Hudar_. What was he thinking? Even saying her full name left him with uncomfortable foreshadowing and a biased opinion—so why was he so taken aback that she'd fled the first opportunity that arose? She _was_ a barbarian.

"Captain Roberts," Kenos said tightly, letting the glass tumble to the floor, wordlessly inspecting the cut in his palm.

"Yes, your grace. I will see to it personally that she is found," Roberts replied, hesitating. "There was also a raven that arrived from Kebos." The Captain set a note on the corner of the desk. Grabbing Grayson by the shoulder, he jerked the young guard out the door after him. The door slammed shut, taking with it the last of Dominick's composure. Snatching the note, he read Khalimat's neat script, pale-faced and sick.

—_The Prophet will return to Hudar at all costs, my King. From there, I suspect she will try to find what's left of her people. Hearing that she killed Brother Favir is most curious, however. He must have discovered something that made his continued existence impractical to her. Find out what it was and you will have a chance at bringing her to heel. But take caution. She is Za'hava, and she is slowly going mad_—

And she had Alyssa.

Storming to the window, Dominick let out a terrible scream, anguish filled and skin-crawling.

**O.O.O**

They had ridden west for another two hours, winding their way through the smaller mountain passes at the start of the Targantis range. Alyssa knew of the location of all the outposts, and with her direction, Raven was able to lead them close to Norr's borders without sight of any patrolling soldiers. Tomorrows ride would bring them dangerously close to the Norrian army.

The rain fell in a steady pour, bone-chilling and miserable. With the last rays of light streming over the horizon, the _Hudar_ spotted a dark recess in the rocky embankment of the pass. A cave. Tall enough for them to stand in and still be unable to reach the ceiling. After checking to be sure there were no bears or wolves inside, the two women lead their tired mounts into the shelter, tethering them near the entrance. Digging in the bags, Raven retrieved a tinder box, and made quick work of starting a fire with a bundle of dry sticks they'd collected earlier.

"Oh, thank the gods," Alyssa sighed, huddled by the small fire, warming her hands.

Raven dragged the rest of their bags closer to the fire. "Thanking the gods? They're the ones that made it rain," she mused good-naturedly. Freedom had drastically brightened the _Hudar's_ mood, Alyssa had noticed. Raven was practically buzzing with energy. Taking two feed bags, the dark-haired woman saw to it that both mounts had a hearty dinner.

"Where are you going?" Alyssa asked as Raven carefully made her way across the uneven ground towards the entrance.

"To get some pine. It will burn wet. I'll only be gone a moment," she hesitated in the threshold, nothing but a dark shadow on the outskirts of the light. Alyssa couldn't help but think she seemed a wash more menacing now, as if being closer to her homeland rendered the woman ethereal. It left Alyssa a little breathless with dual emotions. "And for the love of _Hudar_, will you stay put?" Raven said in exasperation.

"Yes, your majesty," Alyssa replied petulantly. When Raven had disappeared, the Queen sagged back against the wall of the cave with a long sigh. She was completely exhausted, numb with cold, sore in places she didn't know existed. She thought herself to be in decent riding shape, in decent physical shape in general, but the day's adventure left her doubtful of her earlier opinion. She wondered if Raven was feeling just as drained as she was. Judging by the three months of interactions with the _Hudar_, Alyssa doubted Raven would ever voice being uncomfortable. She was instinctually more suited to this lifestyle than a _Queen_. A Queen that hadn't eaten all day and was shamefully missing her favorite bottle of wine.

Glancing curiously at the bulging saddle bags, Alyssa crawled closer, unlashing the ties. An odd little smile quirked her lips. Raven had secured an impressive collection of supplies. Warm otter-skin boots and gloves. Feed for the horses. A small cook pot. Oats and dried meat. A few water skins. Two bedrolls. A thick bear fur blanket. Extra leather straps for the riding gear. There were two other bags she hadn't even opened yet.

Trying to be helpful, Alyssa set water to boil on the fire, aiming to make some warm food. Admittedly, she couldn't recall the last time she'd made anything remotely edible. Or the last time she cooked anything at all… _Oatmeal isn't that difficult, right?_ When the water began to bubble, she carefully moved it away from the fire, then poured in a few handsfuls of oats. While they slowly cooked, Alyssa cleared away rocks, flattening out a large spot on the cave floor. She laid out the bedrolls side by side, covering them with the thick bear fur blanket, rearranging them until she was satisfied. _Not too bad_, she thought mildly. _For some ugly old furs in a cave, I suppose. At least we'll be warm_.

"I never suspected you of being domestic."

Alyssa yelped in surprise, spinning where she sat. Raven was as sneaky as a shadow. Smiling wryly, the _Hudar_ stooped by the fire, building it up with the rather large pile of wood she'd brought. _How on earth did she carry all that in one trip?_ Regaining her poise, Alyssa crossed her arms. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing ill, your grace," Raven replied.

"If you do not cease addressing me as such I will smother you in your sleep."

"I suppose it's fortunate that I don't sleep much then," she mused, stirring the oatmeal.

"Please," Alyssa rolled her eyes. "You sleep, I've seen it. You even manage to look adorable in doing so."

Raven snorted. "I'm hardly adorable."

"You'd also be charming if you weren't so opposed to smiling," Alyssa teased, smile fading as she watched the woman's unsettling shadow dancing on the wall of the cave. "Occasionally I'm not sure if it's a smile, however. You've a look in those eyes sometimes that speaks of a hunger I've never seen before…" she trailed off as Raven turned towards her slowly.

That look was lingering on the edges of those dark violet eyes. "And does this hunger frighten you?"

"A little bit," Alyssa shrugged faintly, wary of the sudden tension in the cave. "It may be foolish of me, but I've some hopeful thought that you enjoy my company too much to ever turn that look truly on me."

Chuckling softly, the _Hudar_ turned back to their dinner, stirring contently. "Let none say you lack wisdom, _your grace_."

"Raven—" she stopped short of screaming, grinding her teeth as she steeled her temper. "_Come here_," she said tightly, a hint of need seeping through the annoyance.

Raven paused at the tone. Glancing to the rather welcoming bed Alyssa had made, the _Hudar_ abandoned the oatmeal. Her gaze darkened, voice going low with liquid heat. "You should get out of those wet clothes."

A flash of lust warmed Alyssa from head to toe, furiously urgent. Taking a slow breath, she shuffled backwards on the blanket, making room. Raven prowled towards her, peeling off her own robes, letting the drenched garments carelessly drop to the floor. Kneeling on their makeshift bed, Raven delicately ripped away the wet riding clothes clinging to Alyssa, grazing her flesh with faint kisses. With an impatient growl, Alyssa tugged Raven on top of her, hands greedily sliding across every inch of the _Hudar_. Smiling wide, Raven kissed her deeply, fingers tangled in that golden hair, hips pressed against that lithe body, that smooth, lightly tanned skin. Rainwater dripped from Raven's braid, trickling down their sides in sharp, cold sensations, blissfully ignored.

In the shadow of the mountains, the _Hudar_ witch made love to the Queen of Norr as if this was their last moment alive. As if an entire nation wasn't searching for them. As if nothing else mattered but their two bodies mingled together in seamless perfection, warm with sweat and passion.

In a rare show of humility, the white stallion looked the other way.


End file.
